Joining Together
by K
Summary: When a insane Immortal goes through the Gate, SG-1 need MacLeod's help


TASHKENT, UZBEKISTAN, SOUTH-WEST ASIA - 16th February 1996: The earth crumbled and fell. The massive, yellow, mechanical digger hammered forward, it's huge bulk offering some shelter from the deluge of rain for the work crew. The JCB had been abandoned long before, being no use at this kind of depth. During the long and soaking wet hours the work crew had all wondered what on earth the building was going to do that needed this kind of depth for its foundations. No other building in the city came close. They were being paid time and half, so their interest remained the vague kind that workers the world over indulge in to pass the time. 

Beneath their feet, something was happening. It had been happening for nearly three thousand years. He was dying. Again. As the cold mud poured into his mouth, the remains of his mind screamed in anger, frustration and rage; but they also registered a touch of mild surprise. He was choking rather than suffocating... 

As his life returned with a gasp of breath, only one thought aroused any interest in the warped and psychotic remains that made up the chilly insanity of his mind. An end to the torture. His fingers scrabbled at his neck, feebly but frenziedly, trying to end it one way or another... 

The digger continued to slam downward, ripping out more of the mud. It swivelled round in the slow, ponderous way labour-saving devices do and dropped it behind itself. They had been doing this in shifts for nearly a month now, so it was amazing any of them noticed the foot. They had found all sorts of junk in the pit, but a foot? With flesh on it? That was moving? "Hold it!" screamed the supervisor, as the crew rushed towards the pasty, skeletal limb. The driver killed the ignition as the rest scrabbled at the ground. 

He screamed in pain as the light, of the overcast, raining and dull day burned into his eyeballs. The people who had saved him gabbled a language he did not understand. How long had it been? A thousand years at least. The hunger! He hardly had enough energy to tremble as he was dragged to the ramp out of the pit. Yet he was driven by the power of his hate, as he realised his wish had been granted. He was free! Now he could have his revenge. Methos would pay! 

U.S. HOSPITAL, TASHKENT - 4th March 1996: Dr. Kemp stared at the man's chart in amazement. In the state he was when the work crew had brought him in to the American-funded hospital, the doctor would have staked his qualification that he should not have survived the shock of being moved. Yet, here it was, just weeks later, and he looked no worse than a critical case of pneumonia. At this rate, he would be ready for release in a couple of months. One to write up, the doctor mused. This was why he had decided to come all the way out here, to be out on the frontier. Why, one of the nurses had claimed some of his strange cuts on his neck had healed before her eyes in seconds. She was only in training but with this man, Kemp would believe anything. Those cuts had been weird, though. They looked as if fingernails had made them, but they were far too deep. Kemp wanted to ask the man about them, about many things, but they could not understand a word he was screaming. Every time he awoke from sedation, which he was doing far too quickly, he began shouting out in a vaguely Arabic language. 

The embassy's best translator was in with him now; after their resident guy had announced that it sounded "kind of like Egyptian", as his best guess. As Kemp wondered what the use of having these people on call if they could not be more specific than that, the translator, Dr. Sarah Phillips, walked out, closing the door. "Well, ma'am?" asked Kemp. He knew it never hurt to suck-up to these 'experts', especially if you wanted their help. Kemp did; he needed this man to talk to him, to tell his story. "I must admit, I'm at a lost. It's definitely Egyptian, but I can't fathom any kind of meaning. What few words I can guess seem to be very old versions of the language, it's like-" "Can you understand anything?" interrupted Kemp. "Just that he's extraordinarily angry." As the yells began again, "That's only from context, mind you." "Damn!" Kemp leant against the corridor wall and sighed. "Given that, Dr. Kemp, if you want this man to stay, I suggest you put a security guard on his door." "Good point." Phillips wanted to leave, she had forgotten how much the smell of hospitals disturbed her; but her professionalism insisted she help the physician. "If you really want to communicate you could try drawings. He seems very intelligent. Just... from a different time." 

U.S. HOSPITAL, TASHKENT - 12th April 1996: They had tried drawings. The results were in Kemp's house in the village, covering two walls of the living room. He couldn't understand them, no one on the staff could. The man, whose name they still did not know, was obviously trying to tell them something. Something madly important to him, judging by the number of times he was prepared to draw the same thing. In two months, there were only three different pictures. A circle covered in symbols, a design for a sword and a man. The pictures of the man had lost Kemp a lot of interest from his staff. The man was always dying, in ghastly ways. Most often though, his head was being cut off by the same sword as the other design. 

The hospital's chief physiologist had taken one look at those pictures and said, "Oh great, another fun day at the office!" He had attempted one interview with the man and diagnosed him as an 'obsessive manic-depressive'. In other words a complete loony. He had admitted that this man scared him more than any other patient. "It's the way he looks at you, as though his been practising that stare for hundreds of years. I tell you, I wouldn't like to be whoever that guy is when he gets out!" 

It was the patient's release that was bothering Kemp. His fantastic recovery rate had not slowed down; in fact, Kemp was convinced he would have been fine if they had left him on his own. In a day or two, Kemp would have no physical reason to continue his treatment, and hence his stay. The physiologist had promised to find a place for him, but Kemp wanted him here, where they could examine him. 

It was time. He felt strong enough now. How long he had been trapped in that abyss, he did not know, but it was too long. He had to posses the circle. Methos had wanted it badly enough to leave the Horsemen, so it had to be his now. He would find it and him; then take his head. That Quickening would give back all that he had lost. Then, the lands through the gate. First, he had to leave this place of healers... 

Kemp was already running when he heard the scream. It was an instinctive reaction in a hospital. He was down the corridor before it registered that it had come from the man's room. The security guard was face down on the ground, his head inside the room, but the blood was pooling across the floor. Other members of the hospital's staff were arriving, so Kemp dropped to his knees next to the man; assuming that his patients were safe. The intruder must be busy trying to escape. 

Kemp pulled the guard over, more worried about stopping the blood than damage by moving him. It was running from his nose, a stream one each side of his face. Kemp knew, from the mangled shape of the nose, what had been done to the man; but he still frantically checked for a pulse and yelled for the nurses. It was a waste of breath. "Is Doug Ok, Chief?" asked Mikar, one of the other security guards. His gun was out and pointing uselessly at the ceiling. "He's dead. His nose has been punched into his brain." Kemp announced, in the flat voice that he used to speak to relatives when they had lost someone. This was not just someone, though. This was Doug. He had seen to his colds, commented on his children when he brought them in to see where Daddy worked. Well, there was no more Daddy. "The man's gone, hasn't he?" Kemp asked, dispiritedly, into the shocked silence. "Uh...yeah. The restraints have been picked. How did you know?" answered one of the nurses from the room. "Doug's head is inside the room. He was facing that way. You have to be in front to do this. Phone the police." 

PLANET P3D-681 - 13th February 1997: O'Neill pushed his baseball cap's peak up with the muzzle of his gun, sighing. He was on another world with SG-1. Another world of unknowns, another world razed by the Gua'ould and another dull assignment. "Well, Teal'c?" "All is quiet, Colonel O'Neill." "Oh, good. We'd hate to actually have to do anything dangerous while Daniel gets thrilled by dusty paper." He gestured to the small temple-like building Daniel had become extremely excited about since their arrival the day before. "I am confused, O'Neill. Your words do not match your tone." "It's that whole 'sarcasm' thing we talked about, Teal'c. I mean I'm very bored. We are a field unit." "Ah, you are attempting to deal with your negative feelings with humour while we are engaged in this mission." "Yep, that's right. And this conversation has been the highlight of the trip so far." O'Neill turned from Teal'c and scanned the horizon. Nothing moved, unless you counted the heat haze and the occasional timber from the destroyed huts. A Gua'ould lord had clearly continued the species 'scorched earth' policy. This planet had probably been a little slow in paying their respects to their 'gods', a situation that was becoming more widespread since the humans started fighting the Gua'ould, O'Neill thought with a little satisfaction. Only a little though, because the result he saw was also becoming more widespread. 

Everything humans needed for survival had been destroyed or poisoned, for a radius of 50 clicks, according to the UAV. Towns had been annihilated, rivers had bacteria dumped in them and forests had been burned. Even the temple, the monument to the 'gods', normally left untouched, had been half destroyed. O'Neill nearly spat, but it would be a waste of moisture. 

Walking into the entrance chamber of the temple's lowest floor, which was mainly intact, O'Neill called to Carter, "Well, Captain, anything of interest us?" Carter stood up and pushed her fringe out of her eyes, glad of the rest. Crouching over her screens for hours was necessary, but not exactly great fun. Still, the information she was gathering was worth it. "Sir, this temple must have been an archive, given the number, diversity and age of documents! Some detail mythology, some history, some archaeology..." "Let me re-phrase that, Carter. Anything of interest to me?" Carter grinned. O'Neill's sense of humour and anti-authoritarian streak meant he was a great commanding officer. It also meant she had to make sure she was not taking herself to seriously. "Not really, sir." "Great. We wouldn't want to have to get back early, would we?" 

Nodding to Carter, who continued taking her readings of the documents, O'Neill ducked into the adjoining room; where Daniel was sorting them and attempting to read them all at once. The room was a low, lightly decorated rectangle; the light provided by several simple holes, in the two shorter walls, running from floor to ceiling. As the room was supporting the entire once-impressive structure, it had been only lightly damaged. A few pieces of rubble at the far end and soot marks from a fire against one wall seemed to be all. Daniel was standing close to this now, completely oblivious to his surroundings, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was reading another roll of parchment and had become completely absorbed, judging from his expression. "Hey, Daniel, anybody in there?" O'Neill called, knowing it could take several shouts before Daniel would return from the land of academia. It didn't. Daniel wheeled round and started talking in the excited, stuttering way he did when on to something he thought was important. "Jack, I've found the Gua'ould's greatest fear! They go on about it in this manuscript - it's absolutely amazing - this place seems to hold an unofficial history of the Gua'ould - it's very old, so I can't estimate how much is normal mythical distortion-" "Daniel!" yelled O'Neill, interrupting the babbling flow. Daniel finally looked up from the manuscript, a surprised look on his face. "Tell me what you're talking about. Slowly." 

Daniel took a deep breath and attempted to calm down, but it was difficult, knowing that he held information that terrified the Gua'ould. "Ok. This temple seems to have a sort of 'unofficial' history of the Gua'ould. It has the events we know about, but without the 'mighty gods' and 'wondrous rule' of the Abydos history. I think this place was punished for keeping this history, as most of it has been burned." Daniel gestured with the parchment he held, which was scorched at the edges and soot covered, despite his attempts to clean it. "Makes sense. I can't see the slugs being happy about their slaves knowing anything." "Well, this parchment was in a separate container, which got me interested. It details a being called 'the great fear of the Gua'ould, the being of greater power than the false gods'. It seems that, when the Egyptians revolted against Ra and buried the Stargate, some of them witness the revolt, but were taken through when Ra escaped. This is the information one of them gave when she was released." "I didn't know the Gua'ould ever released anybody." "They seem to allow people to leave service when they become to old to be useful." Daniel's head dropped to the paper and his finger began to move across the page. "Now, some of the details are vague, but they tell of: 

'A spectre of Death itself, who demanded the false God's Chapa'ai. When he was told that he would be killed for defiance, he laughed cruelly. Soon, while he threatened one of the children to make us tell what little we knew of the Chapa'ai, the false God's servants arrived and tried to capture him'." 

O'Neill sighed. He really did not have the patience to listen to Daniel read through the entire manuscript, which looked mind-numbingly long. "Ok, Daniel. Assume that I am not completely fascinated by a completely accurate translation. Summarise." "Oh... Ok. This is a first hand account of a being that arrived as Ra was overthrown and tried to take control of the Stargate. A number of Jaffa were sent to capture him after he had killed some Egyptians, but their staff weapons didn't hurt him. He could not die. He slaughtered them, a number of villagers and then threatened the entire settlement with 'An Army of Death'. The villagers refused and the being left to gather his army but never returned." Daniel was flushed with excitement. O'Neill considered what he had said. "You're saying there's something out there that can't be killed by the Gua'ould, wants control of the Stargate, frightens the Gua'ould and seems to threaten everything in it's path. Now, you have no idea what this thing is, where it is, if it's still alive or how to find it, right?" "Yes, but-" O'Neill cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You want us to cut short our mission. Then go and tell General Hammond that we want to devote time and effort to trying to find someone in a story. Someone who may be a myth or, at best, a vast exaggeration?" "Yes..." Daniel slowly, admitted, realise how far-fetched it sounded. "Sure thing. It's got to be better than staying here." 

GIZA PLATEAU, EGYPT - 14th August 1996: Egypt hadn't changed much in the years, he thought. Still miserably sandy. Still full of mindless mortals living their pointless lives. The Immortals were just as pointless. So many years! The Quickening of two youngsters he had taken since his release from the torture had told him that. Several thousand years he now knew. The languages were much changed, but he had practised hard in the months it had taken him to get here. The world was round! The mortals had been to the moon. So much had happened. None of it would matter, if only he could get the circle; but it wasn't here! One of the youngsters had remembered an archaeological dig, a few decades back, that had found something like it. By 'South African's', whatever they were. Well, he would find them, or their descendants. He would track the circle across the globe, for wherever it was, Methos would be close. No matter what it took, he would have his revenge and the circle too... 

SORBONNE UNIVERSITY, PARIS - 14th March, 1997: "Adam!" cried Professor Dupont, seeing the vaguely eastern head of Adam Pierson round the battered door of the office. "Hello, Marc. What's so urgent?" Methos did not like visiting mortal friends he had not seen it a decade or so, they tended to ask to many questions, but Marc was a complete academic. Methos could have announced he was an alien from Pluto and Marc would not care, so long as he could keep getting help with his studies. He was an extremely talented man on his own, but Methos unique knowledge had made him one of the best in his field. It had also led to him 'creating' some distinctly original and quite unpopular theories. "I have a message for you." 

This instantly put Methos on his guard. Messages were usually bad news. They usually meant that either one of his aliases had hit a problem or someone from his past had decided he was a problem. With this in mind, he warily asked, "Who's it from?" "Oh, some American, I think..." Marc turned back to the mass of paper that seemed to grow from his desk and continued scrabbling at it, attempting to find the blue air-mail envelope. "Some kind of project in their military they want you to consult on, I think... Ah, here we are!" Marc grinned triumphantly. He was holding the paper aloft; looking as though it had been in the pile for months, not hours. "Thanks Marc. I call you soon." Methos mumbled the words, snatching at the letter and walking hurriedly outside. The American military? He hadn't had anything to do with them for years. What could they possibly want him to do? 

Reading the letter, it became clear that they did not want 'him'. They wanted Adam Pierson, as an expert on history, to analyse a newly discovered manuscript. Their expert, a Dr. Daniel Jackson, said that 'your reputation as a man with a breadth and depth knowledge unparalleled in the field means you are the only possible recommendation for this commission'. Well, that was a relief. Just go and tell some Americans what some manuscript meant, so they could justify the expense of their philanthropic works to the government. A trip would be nice and the pay was attractive. Well, what harm could it do, Methos mused, wandering towards the river? He would just ask MacLeod to look after the flat. 

TEMPORARY U.S. MILITARY BASE, ANTARCTICA - 3rd March 1997: Private Hammerstien shuffled his feet. Guard Duty! Who needed to be on guard duty in Antarctica, for crying out loud? What was going to happen? Oh, I know, they'd be cowardly attacked by a bit of ice! It was a joke. This whole operation was a joke; no one knew what was going on. They'd just pulled the entire unit up here from the regular base in Sweden and told them to guard a cave. A cave of ice! What an important military event! A couple of people get rescued from it, and all of a sudden, it's more needs 'guarded in complete secret'. Of course, no one knows what's in the cave, no one knows what we're guarding it from, and no one knows how long we'll be guarding it. What was the point? I want to be back with the lads, have a few games of darts- 

Yes! He had killed three guards now, pulling the sword from the latest one's chest. It wasn't exactly challenging; this one had practically been talking to himself. They're couldn't be much more security, the aide he'd tortured had told him that. It had been amusing, watching him beg and grovel, selling precious military secrets for his life. Killing him when he'd become bored had been the kindest thing. A useful man though. He'd given up the security details, numbers of soldiers and what was passing for a strategy. He had even told him how to operate the circle, given him an 'address' that he thought would work. In his time, command like that would get you the ultimate demotion. They would get you killed. Well, it would be terrible to disappoint them... 

SGC, CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, NORTH AMERICA - 17th March, 1997: "As you can see, Dr. Pierson, this is a variant of Egyptian at around 1,000 BCE, with a slightly different development. What little translation I've been able to make is on the computer." It certainly sounded simple enough when Daniel Jackson had met him the previous day, but there was definitely something very interesting going on here. 

For a start, this wasn't a 'slightly different development'; it was nearly a completely different language. Also, this Dr. Jackson hadn't done a 'little translation'; there were details in the computer file that couldn't possibly have come from the document in front of him. Jackson already knew this language! Why had he called in Adam Pierson, a virtually unknown historian? 

Methos itched to know what was going on here, with the document but also with the base. Still, if he did translate this document, maybe he could persuade them to tell him what happening. They were certainly paying generously, pity they wouldn't let him have a beer while he worked. 

Methos pulled the chair into the desk and began to make notes on his pad. He had a few of the standard reference books scattered on the desk, for the look of the thing; but he was mainly going of his own knowledge. It was slow going; he had not spent a great deal of time in Egypt. To many gods, really. Too pious. There had been that time when he'd gone looking for that 'circle'. It was supposed to lead to another world- 

"Bloody hell!" Methos yelled. His thoughts had met the parchment! It was all written down in front of him! He had been a different person, but he recognised every action. What was going on? He virtually jumped out of the chair and began pacing the room. Why did it always happen to him? He became a Watcher and was assigned to investigate his own life! He's commissioned to translate a manuscript and it's about himself! What did it mean? 

Collecting himself, Methos checked the door, to see if one of the vigilant guards had noticed his excitement. Methos was relived to mind the woman outside unmoving, as the lab was designed to allow work to continue in any conditions. He slumped back into the plastic chair and savagely rubbed his temples, trying to work out a plan. 

The circle must be here! The Americans had found it! With his desperately striving mind, Methos indistinctly remembered an article that had caught his attention a few decades back. Some dig in Egypt had caught his attention. He could not remember the details; they were always digging things up in Egypt. The place names changed too often, as well. Mortals tended to rename everything. It made them feel as though they were in control. 

If the circle was here, things made a lot more sense. The Americans had always been slightly mad over military security, so that explained why they hadn't just sent him the manuscript. They must want any information of the things that had controlled the gate, the ones pretending to be the Egyptian's gods. No wonder, they could destroy mankind, from what little Methos had been able to find out back then. That meant that they hadn't used the gate yet. He had to get to it. It had been called a gateway to other worlds, thousands of years before wormholes had been theorised. An Immortal had to control it; at the very least use it. If the mortals kept true to form, they'd lock this down to ridiculous extremes for far too many decades. Immortals could wait, but this was far too close to the Gathering for comfort. An Immortal had to go through the circle, and it looked as though Methos was the only one available. 

Working out how to beat the security took Methos several hours, but at last he was happy. Finding the circle was not going to be hard - on his way in, Methos had noticed that the entire base had been designed with one specific section as the focus. It was a few levels down, in the centre of the complex, as near as he could calculate. 

Methos strolled to the door and slipped out, into the grey corridor. As always the guard turned immediately turned, with a friendly but inquisitive smile on her face. Methos acknowledged that she had been well trained. "Just off to the loo." Methos smiled warmly, allowing his English accent to become more pronounced than usual. The guard waved him on, grinning to herself at his choice of words. Methos strolled down the corridor as he had done a few times in the past hours. The entire plan hinged on him not arousing suspicion. Timing it to perfection, Methos swung round on the ball of his foot, waving his hands in his best 'polite-Englishman' impression. "I'm getting a cup of tea. Would you like some?" "No, thank you, sir." "Jolly good." Methos congratulated himself. He had now got four minutes and an excuse to use the lift. 

Methos stalked along the corridor, cat-soft, dropping instantly into a relaxed stroll when a uniform walked past. His confidence was mounting. He had not been accosted for being in a restricted area once yet. He was pretty sure he could bluff his way out of any problems, at the worst just being escorted back to his workroom. 

Methos glided silently into an alcove by the side of the massive blast-doors and peered into the hanger-sized room. A simple concrete cube, the circle stood slightly back from the centre; but was clearly the focus of the place. Well, now it was time to see if the second half of the plan went as well as the first. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to go for it. 

Slipping back along the wall, Methos reached the steel door leading to the control room. A technician worked at a console, as two armed guards stood at attention at each end of the room. Tricky, mused Methos, but not impossible. He exhaled slowly and knocked on the glass of the door. One of the guards immediately glanced up and Methos gave him a wave. The other completely ignored the disturbance, obviously instructed to watch the stairwell. It made sense, as a single distraction would not be able to take in both defenders. Still, Methos thought he could deal with it. 

The man walked over to the door and opened it, forced to take his hand of his gun to do so. Before he had got the door halfway open, Methos punched him hard, straight in the face. He bent his arm on the follow through, catching the man wickedly on the temple with his elbow. He dropped to the ground as Methos collected his gun, using his other hand, as part of one smooth movement. 

The other soldier was only beginning to move forward as Methos lined himself up and threw the machine-gun, flicking his wrist to send it spinning into the man's face. There was an unpleasant wet thud and he also dropped. Methos allowed his momentum to spin him completely round, using his right hand to grip the technician's wrist as she reached for an alarm button. "Sorry" he said, meaning it to all of them, then he chopped powerfully at her neck, catching the vulnerable knot of nerves of the right side. She folded in an almost comical way, sliding off her chair to the floor. Methos grinned to himself. He liked to think he was past his days of violence, but it was good to know he was still proficient at the craft. 

He typed quickly as the keyboard, instructing the computer to bring up the original settings of the circle. Methos waited just long enough to see that the commands were successful; then dashed down the steps and through the blast doors. His luck was holding; the room contained the circle, the ramp leading up to it, a few crates covered in tarpaulins and two unarmed machine guns. 

Methos walked to the edge of the ramp, as the whine of the generators reached their highest pitch. The Stargate engaged. Unfortunately, Methos couldn't appreciate the majesty of the Gate, as the blast doors suddenly slammed shut. Spinning round, Methos saw an attractive blonde woman sitting at the computer console, obviously stopping the operation. "Good morning! It was a good plan, but you really should have suspected something. Personally, I'd give you six out of ten." 

Methos whirled at the sound of the voice, staring at the barrel of the pistol held in O'Neill's hand. He was standing behind one of the crates, where he had obviously been hiding. A large, well-built African-American stood up from behind the other crate, holding what was obviously a weapon from his stance; although it looked as though nothing more than a pointed stick. 

"Ok. I'm sure you know the drill, but let's stick to tradition. Face down on the floor hands behind your back, moving slowly." 

Methos had never liked taking risks, especially when trained people where threatening him with weapons, but he felt he had no choice. The possibilities that circle represented where worth it. He bowed his knees and placed his fingertips on the cold floor, as though obeying the command. From this sprinter's position, he sprang towards the circle. 

"Colonel, the Gate is still open!" yelled Carter as Methos accelerated. "Shoot him!" O'Neill ordered Teal'c as he began firing. 

Methos felt the bullets slam into his ribs and right leg, but fought on through the descending blackness towards the Stargate. Teal'c, taking careful aim, after seeing O'Neill's shots were ineffective, fired two quick blasts at Methos' head. Methos staggered heavily into the side rail. Another blast from Teal'c dropped him, with blood gushing from his head and shoulders. 

The entire event had taken only a few seconds. Armed soldiers, moved out of the Gate Room for the trap, poured in and fanned out. "Get him down to the Doc, now!" shouted O'Neill. As Methos was hustled out by the paramedics, Teal'c approached, calm as ever. "Surely, Colonel O'Neill, if Daniel Jackson's hypothesis is correct, the Doctor is unnecessary?" "It's just in case he's wrong. I really wouldn't like to get sued." 

Dr. Fraiser was conducting the ordered chaos of surgery with her usual mild commands as SG-1 and General Hammond observed. "...10cc's of hydopethaine and run another CHEM-7." She turned and pulled off her gloves. "Well, I have to say, for a dead man he's looking well." "Excuse me?" O'Neill raised his eyebrows at the comment. "When this man was brought in, he was medically dead. He stayed that way for four minutes. Then, just as I was about to declare time of death, his vital signs jumped straight back to normal." Seeing that SG-1 looked shocked, while Hammond just looked stonily concerned, Fraiser continued. "That's not all. This is one of the wounds caused by Teal'c's staff weapon." Fraiser switched on a monitor over the desk and a grainy image of Methos head appeared. "This is not possible, Doctor Fraiser" Teal'c looked as concerned as he ever got in public. "This wound, if it has not killed, should take many months to heal this far." "That's what I thought. It has healed this fast in ten minutes. Keep watching." 

As the four of them peered at the screen, a blue flash, like a tiny lightening blot, flickered over the end of the wound. After it had vanished, that end showed clear, unblemished flesh and the wound was distinctly smaller. "Oh, boy..." muttered Daniel. "He must be a alien of some kind." Carter turned from the screen to Fraiser, looking for conformation." "That's what I thought, but he's medical checks out as completely human. I can't find anything that would cause this." "He could be some form of higher-evolved human. We found signs of civilisations that had obviously gone beyond ours." Carter's nose was nearly touching the monitor screen. "That's what I thought, but there should be some signs, in his blood chemistry, the formation of this organs... "Thank you, Doctor." Hammond interrupted. "As soon as he is well enough to move, have him taken to the cells. I have to remind you, and your staff, that everything they have seen, heard and thought about, is classified top-secret." Leaving the Fraiser confused by his brisk statement; Hammond beckoned SG-1 to follow him to the conference room. 

As they four members sat on the cushioned seats, Hammond explained. "What I'm about to tell you has been classified 'Black'." "What does that mean?" Daniel glanced at O'Neill. "It doesn't exist. It never happened. Higher than top-secret." "Ah." "One week after we were there," continued the General, "the temporary base, set up in Antarctica to guard the second Stargate, was attacked. It was attacked by one man." Hammond continued in the unusual silence. "We had video surveillance of this man, within ten yards of the Gate, getting shot fifteen times in the chest; at a range of thirty yards." "Hold on!" O'Neill exploded. "The Gate was supposed to be moved immediately. You said you gave the orders as soon as you got to the chopper!" "I did, Colonel." Hammond's calm Southern voice didn't waver. The SG-1 team, though, knew well that he was very angry at what he had to say. "Unfortunately, I was overruled. The personal of Area51 were ordered to leave the Stargate in Antarctica, guarding by a unit from Sweden and conduct tests on it there." "Sir, surely that should have shown up in the paperwork. Some confirmation of your order should have been incorrect." Cater leaned forward, as O'Neill pulled away from the table and began to stalk up and down the room. "It would have, Captain, if the paperwork hadn't been faked. As far as anyone outside of Area51 personnel and their commanders knew, the second gate was immediately flown to Area51." "Who has that kind of authority?" Daniel couldn't believe that anyone could do this. "I don't know. I intend to find out. I've even tried talking to the President, but he tells me that he doesn't know anything about it; and I believe him." "That idiot Mayborne!" O'Neill had his hands on his head as he walked and was obviously talking to himself. "What do you mean, Colonel O'Neill?" Teal'c wasn't good at picking up on human associations. The other three knew exactly what O'Neill was going to say. "Mayborne! I bet this was one of his slimy ideas!" "Colonel, leaving aside your thoughts on Colonel Mayborne, who can't be linked to this, we have bigger problems." Hammond's unnecessary aside told O'Neill that he had thought the exact same thing, but couldn't prove it. "Such as?" O'Neill asked, dropping his arms. "So, Colonel, after the man attacked the Stargate in Antarctica and was shot; he then got up, after being declared dead and killed the squad in the room. He then went through the Stargate, despite being shot three more times. Watch." 

With that, the general turned and pressed a few controls on the computer behind him. The monitor immediately stopped displaying the rotating SGC graphic and played the surveillance footage, following Hammond's description. It left SG-1 in no doubt that there were people on the planet who could not die. "So, we have a guy trying to get through the Stargate there, getting shot, dying and then coming back to life and leaving. Here, we have a guy trying to get through the Stargate and getting shot, dying and then coming back to life." O'Neill paused, obviously for effect. "Is anyone else getting that Friday the thirteenth, black cat, coincidence kind of feeling?" "Exactly, Colonel. If this is a race of aliens, I'd like to know how they got here, what they're doing, what they want and how they can pass for human. Colonel, you and Dr. Jackson will begin the interrogation, when our visitor has recovered." 

Methos had already completely checked the cell dozens of times when the two men entered. There was no doubt about it; this place was solid. Cells hadn't really changed much, reflected the oldest man on Earth. When it came to keeping people somewhere, large, thick layers of stone with a metal bar motif where still at the top of the list. So, he wasn't going to get out through strength and these people had already proved themselves adept at predicting his moves. Methos vaguely wondered if there was a Watcher or two around, as O'Neill and Daniel sat down at the flimsy folding table in front of the cell. Well, at least talking to them would relieve the boredom he'd felt in the last few hours. 

"Well, Doc, you want to have a go at explaining what you were doing back there?" O'Neill began. "I don't suppose you'd believe looking for a bathroom?" Methos paused; knowing the feeble joke wouldn't stop this interview going the way most of the others in his long life had gone. He would lie for a while, until he could make up something convincing, then be released. He hoped. Going to prison for a life sentence couldn't be described as fun, especially for an immortal. Unfortunately, Methos couldn't think of a vaguely convincing reason for his action that wouldn't end up with him being locked up, either in a jail or a lunatic asylum. "I thought I had to have a lawyer?" "Oh, you only get a lawyer if you're being charged with a crime. We're just locking you up" At O'Neill's flat announcement, Methos began to get intensely worried. "You see, that whole not-dying thing you did means we can class you as a dangerous Extra-Terrestrial Biological Entity. You don't have any rights, as soon as you became a threat to this base." There was a pause as Methos digested this extremely worrying piece of news. "So," O'Neill continued, "you're only way out of here is to tell us who, or what, you are?" 

Methos simply said nothing. "It took us a while to find you, put you're face finally turned up on a search of our database. You see, there was a very accurate drawing on another part of the manuscript. We asked you here to see what you reaction to the manuscript would be..." "Boy, did you give us a reaction!" O'Neill commented. "... and now we've seen what happens when you heal." "So, we're just wondering, what would happen if I shot you in the head again?" O'Neill was holding his gun, unflinching, at Methos' forehead in a split-second. Methos had to admit he liked this mortal. It definitely looked as though they had already worked out everything, meaning Methos felt he could tell them about Immortals. It was that or stay in the cell while they worked it out for themselves. Still, perhaps he could make sure this worked out for everyone. "I wouldn't die, if that's what you mean. Although it would hurt like hell." It was always amusing watching mortal's faces as they realised what they had just been told. Methos continued, knowing that he was only going to succeed if they were too confused to think things through. "Look, I'll tell you everything about Immortals if you get a man called Duncan MacLeod here. He lives on a barge, on the river Seine in Paris. Everyone knows him. Get him here and perhaps we can reach a mutual agreement." 

SGC, CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, NORTH AMERICA - 21st March 1997: Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod, sat in the cell of this mysterious mountain complex, wondering what Methos had got him into now. It had taken the SGC two days to track him down and give him the message. Methos had made sure it included a code phrase to indicate it really was from him; and that MacLeod should follow but be on his guard. So far it looked like a fairly standard, if better defended, military outpost. That was the thing about the military, they rarely changed, no imagination. Still they had got Methos locked up and he'd sent a message that he needed MacLeod's help, badly. For the old immortal to admit that meant it was very serious indeed. 

Ever since they had met, MacLeod had been digging the old man out of trouble. True, sometimes his help had been unwanted, but most of the time Methos needed him. It looked like he needed him now. These mortals were serious. "Well, what have you done now?" Methos gestured for MacLeod to sit. "It's not what I've done, it's what you've got to do." Methos had spoken in an ancient dialect of Noumea both he and MacLeod knew. However, the only the peasants had ever spoken the dialect, so Methos was hoping that Daniel Jackson wouldn't know it. "I need you to go on a little trip for me." "How far?" "I don't really know. I few thousand light years, perhaps." "What!" "Look, it began three thousand years ago..." 

TASHKENT, UZBEKISTAN, SOUTH-WEST ASIA, c.1, 003 BCE Methos walked quickly up the canyon towards the village. If he kept up a good speed, he'd reach it by first light and then he'd be able to get on a ship to Africa. Apparently, some new warlord had sprung up in Egypt with a 'circle of power'. The rumours that had driven Methos to make the long and dangerous trip were that it was a device of gods, a item of evil, a wizards tool and on and on. No one really knew what it was, what it did or anything about this warlord. He was calling himself 'Ra', one of the Egyptian gods, apparently. Methos had been able to find out, on his trip through the continent, that many of the people believed him. Well, that wasn't his problem. Setting yourself up as a god had its advantages, the Immortal feared across three continents as Death mused. The man might be an Immortal, judging from the stories of his ability to recover from wounds, but Methos felt certain he could take his head. Then he would control the circle. Whatever it was, he felt it was worth the trip, although his 'brothers' disagreed. There had been another argument about his leaving. The Horsemen were becoming more trouble than they were worth... Methos' thoughts were interrupted by the familiar and usually unwelcome tingle that signified another Immortal. Methos immediately froze, searching with all his senses for the newcomer. His hand, automatically, reached for the sword at his belt, resting on the hilt. After a few moments, a tall bulky figure moved out of the twilight towards him. Methos took no notice of the man's features, concentrating on the sword held casually in his hand. He instantly snapped his own sword out and up. 

So, another Immortal. I could get quite irritated at this- Ah, but there are bigger issues. Look at him, barely a century old, probably. Looks Egyptian. Huh, if only he knew! Peering around like the bush could attack him. I don't know why I bother talking to the rest of these idiots. Playing this stupid Game. There are better ways of gaining power. Still, the deserving get their just reward. Better talk with the idiot, in case he tries something foolish... 

"Relax! I don't want your head. I have other business. I'm just want to make sure you aren't in any hurry to die." The voice reminded Methos of a reptile, low and deliberately threatening. Methos guessed that he had practised it. He was a thick, slow moving man, like Kronos, but without the other's intelligence. Still, Methos had his own business he was in a hurry to get to, so this arrangement suited him just fine. "Certainly. I have to get to the village up ahead and ten minutes might make me late for a drink." 

Weak! He will attack me, just as they all do! They would close around me. No! The power is mine. This youngster will regret his lack of respect! How could he know...? 

"The village up ahead? What do you want there?" The threat in the Immortal's tone was obvious to Methos. He'd heard it to many times in his life, usually after making smart comments like that one. Methos lifted his sword, instinctively, as the other matched his move. This was getting out of control, far too rapidly. "It's rude to ask someone's business without sharing your name. I am Methos." "I am Kobol. Now, what are you doing in the village over the canyon?" Kobol's voice tensed further and he took a few steps towards Methos. Methos tightened his grip on this sword handle and replied. "I am taking a boat to Egypt." The reply Methos knew was coming was spat back at him. "I am also going to Egypt. I am beginning to feel that this is no coincidence. What do you want in Egypt?" Methos felt a tiring inevitability about the conversation fall down on his shoulders. It was obvious why the other Immortal wanted to go to Egypt. It was too much to ask that no other Immortal wanted the circle. The other man snarled, sounding like a wild animal let loose. 

No! Why am I cursed with a life full of imbeciles? The circle is mine! I cannot be denied. I am the only worthy one! The rest of them, mortals and Immortals, deserve each other. I'll deal with this fool... 

"I am after a object there. A circle." "The circle is mine." The possessive whine in the man's voice scared Methos more than his sword. He was hanging on to his sanity by his fingertips, if Methos was any judge. "It seems I have to take your head after all. I don't suppose I could persuade you to save yourself some pain and just stand there?" "I don't suppose I could persuade you to jump off the edge?" Methos gestured toward the gaping expanse of inky blackness that lay just feet to his left. 

Without a sound, Kobol attacked. He had sheer brute strength that could easily overpower Methos, but little finesse. The fight began to lengthen, as the two circled, Methos using all his tricks and skill to avoid his opponent's speeding blade. He got in several slashes on Kobol's arms and torso that healed before he could gain the advantage. Kobol didn't stop, didn't change his method of attack, even Methos was clearly the more skilled. He didn't even attempt any witty remarks that normally enlivened the proceedings. He simply carried on, hopping that Methos would tire before he did. 

Methos did. Spinning away from the edge, which the fight had been dancing along, he was too slow to block a vicious short stab at his chest and received half of Kobol's blade in his ribs. As Kobol viciously twisted the sword before releasing it, Methos dropped to his knees, not dying, but in so much pain he could hardly move. "You were better than most." That seemed to be all the time Kobol would give for last rites, but it was enough for Methos' mind, frantically searching for escape, to act. Clutching his sword, which had hung in his limp hand, Methos slashed with blinding speed at Kobol's knee, a red mist threatening to overwhelm his eyesight. The crack of the bones seemed disgustingly loud in the night. The affect was just a devastating. Slumping out of control, Kobol's leg disappeared over the edge; dragging him over as he screamed. 

Methos knew, as he lay recovering, that it would be a long time before Kobol managed to get out. The drop to the canyon had been several hundred feet when Methos had last peered over, that morning. The bottom, denied rain for several months, this year was a deep lake of mud. With any luck, which Methos didn't seem to be having, it would take Kobol several days to recover and follow Methos... 

SGC, CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, NORTH AMERICA - 21st March 1997: Methos slapped the photo Hammond had supplied, from the video surveillance, onto the table. It unmistakably showed Kobol, grinning maniacally, his shirt covered in blood from the multitude of wounds in his torso. "I didn't hear anything. For three thousand years. He must have been buried for all that time!" "My god." It took a lot to shock MacLeod but the thought of being trapped underground, buried for a never-ending life, would do it. "He must have been driven mad." "He wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders when I met him." Methos pause for a moment, knowing he what he was about to ask MacLeod. That isn't the main reason for you to go through this 'Stargate', they call it." "You want me to go through this thing?" Duncan exclaimed. "You have to, an Immortal has to, MacLeod." Methos tried to explain. "I'm not worried about Kobol. I'm sure you can kill him, MacLeod. He's been out of practise for three millennia. No, you have to go through the Stargate, to see who's out there." "What other Immortal could have gone through?" "None. I just think some have been born out there." 

MacLeod was generally considered, amongst the Immortals he hadn't killed, to be a solid, dependable and disciplined man. He rarely got angry and virtually never allowed it to affect him. However, Methos was piling surprise upon surprise, with no explanation, so even he was getting testy. "What are you going on about Methos?" "Look, MacLeod, you know it as well as I do, "At the time of the Gathering, the few who remain will be brought together in a far distant land..." "Yes?" "On this planet, it's impossible to ever be more than 12,000 miles from any where else. Who said the "far distant land" has to be on Earth?" "So you're saying that the Gathering is through this... Stargate?" "If it's not, it's a really big waste." Methos grinned for an instant, then became serious. "Maybe, MacLeod. I don't truly know. Anyway, apparently thousands of humans have gone to other worlds. Can you imagine the amount of Immortals that must be out there!" "So, you want me to go and look." "Well, an Immortal has to, and I had no choice but to reluctantly volunteer you. I would go, but I'm busy redecorating." Methos gestured at the blank stone of the cell. "Thanks, Methos." "What are friends for?" "I've said it before, with friends like you, who needs enemies." "Now, you've just got to persuade the General to let you go." 

"Exactly why should I let you go through, Mr. MacLeod?" General Hammond stared straight into the Highlander's eyes, his knuckles resting on the desk of the conference room. "It's Duncan, General. I have to go through to find Kobol." MacLeod knew that this wasn't going to be easy, the General had no reason to trust him; but he was holding all the aces. "Kobol?" broke in Daniel. "The Immortal who attacked your other base. He has to be found." "Why is that?" "Well, apart from the fact that he's a psychopath, capable of killing anyone and everyone he comes across, can you imagine what the one of these aliens will do, if they come across him?" 

The remark made all five mortals pause. Methos had given MacLeod some information on the aliens and what he'd been able to find out about these people's involvement with them. MacLeod agreed with Methos, these were the kind of mortals he liked. "From what I've been able to find out, you haven't become too popular with them. What do you think will happen if they discover that there are Immortals on Earth?" "We'd become their greatest fear." Daniel realised, remembering the scroll. "You are correct Daniel Jackson. The System Lords would unite against this planet, to ensure that this threat was destroyed." Teal'c confirmed. "You can't kill him. I can and will." MacLeod continued, steadily, seeing he was winning. "I'm the only option you've got." "Sir, the deal was, we brought this guy here and then we would be told about Immortals." O'Neill appealed to Hammond. "Yes, it was, but Methos will tell you only after I've left." MacLeod replied quickly. "What reassurance do I have that he'll keep his word?" Hammond responded. "You've got him locked up. He can't escape or he already would have done. Believe me, being in prison is no fun for an Immortal." "It does bring a new meaning to the term 'life sentence'." Daniel glanced at the others. "Sorry." "Sir, I don't trust this entire set-up." O'Neill leaned back in his chair. "We got no reassurances, no information and for all we know, they could all be in league with each other!" "I don't like it either, Colonel. That's why you're going with Mr. MacLeod." "What?" "He's right. We can't afford for the Gua'ould to find out their are immortal humans. We have to stop this man and I don't see how we can do that to an immortal being. I assume that there is a way of killing you Immortals and you're just not telling us?" The last remark was directed to MacLeod, who responded with a nod and faint smile. "So, Colonel, you will take SG-1 and locate this Immortal, with Mr. MacLeod's help. You will observe how to deal with them and come back. Now. Mr. MacLeod I suggest you go and inform Mr. Pierson that you have succeeded." 

SGC, CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, NORTH AMERICA - 22nd March 1997: SG-1 walked into the Gate Room in single file, with MacLeod behind them. They were all wearing out in their regular SGC uniforms and weaponry, adapted for a longer mission than normal. As O'Neill had said, "This guys got infinity to hide in." They did have the security shot of the address he had gated to from the South Pole, so the cause wasn't hopeless. MacLeod was dressed in a combat uniform similar to SG-1's but without the badges. He also carried no weapons other than his katana. "Are you sure you don't want a gun?" Daniel asked, for at least the fourth time. "This is all I need." MacLeod grinned, spinning the lethal sword one-handed. "Let the man be, Daniel." 

"Seventh chevron, locked." came the announcement over the PA system. "All right people, they're playing our song." O'Neill ordered. He then caught sight of MacLeod. He was staring, open mouthed, at the Stargate, engaged in all its powerful and astronomical beauty. "It's like the eye of a God." whispered MacLeod, recalling a poem he had once helped write. "Yeah, it is pretty cool, isn't it. Wait till you go through it. Let's move, people." O'Neill waved his hand so Carter and Teal'c marched quickly up the ramp with him and through the Gate. Daniel hung back, as always, enjoying watching someone go through the Stargate the first time. To do his four hundred plus years credit, MacLeod resisted the temptation to push part of his hand through and bring it out again. He simply examined the gate carefully, once round with his eyes and checked the improvised sheath round his leg was holding his sword securely then walked slowly through. 

It seemed as though two bands of starlight shining through clouds were flashing through his skull. As his awareness screamed down the passage, brilliant lights, far brighter than any sunshine he had ever experienced, blinded MacLeod. He could never remember if he could feel his body or not, yet he would always describe the sensation as flying. It stretched on for minutes, like a rollercoaster built across the universe; then MacLeod was thrown forward into a field of coarse, lumpy, orange grass. 

SOUTHERN LANDS, PLANET P4C-734 - 22nd March 1997: "Ok, it's a balmy, not unpleasant day here on P4C-734 and there is absolutely no-one in sight. Still, let's not get surprised. Secure the area." Ordered O'Neill. As the five fanned out, MacLeod being carefully watched by O'Neill, they certainly seemed to be alone in the middle of a wide field. The Stargate was roughly in the centre of a clear area. It hadn't been deliberately cleared, though. The trees simple stopped growing in a twenty-metre circle around it. The trees themselves were as oddly coloured as the grass, a lurid purple that MacLeod had last seen in the 1970's. The bright sky above was far clearer than Earth's had ever been, but the quite seemed unnatural. 

After a few moments, MacLeod felt a gentle tug on his shoulder. Turning, he watched O'Neill order, "I don't like this. Hold positions." The reason O'Neill didn't like was the same reason Carter didn't like it and Teal'c didn't like it. The silence. Professional soldiers learn about silences, or else they become full-time corpses. They all knew that many battles had been won by a commander knowing the difference between the silence of an enemy frantically trying to gather it's breath and the silence of an enemy about to attack. 

MacLeod, who had fought in many of those battles, realised the problem O'Neill had with this particular silence. They were being watched. An enemy was watching them. "Over to our right. Quite a lot of them." he murmured to O'Neill, then, despite his orders, began to edge forward. After a few steps, he felt it. The faint tingle of another Immortal. 

A harsh, cruel, voice abruptly boomed out from the trees. "I am Muspa Darrka, lord of the Southern Lands and I challenge you." MacLeod moved to the right, instinctively drawing his sword and twirling it, one handed. "My name is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod and I am not looking for a fight." "Well, I am and I've found you! Tell your mortal slaves to stand back." 

With an inward sign of resignation, MacLeod motioned to O'Neill. "Colonel? You know you wanted to know more about Immortal's?" "Yes…" O'Neill replied cautiously, knowing that when people used that tone of voice for a question, you weren't going to like whatever happened next. "You're about to get a practical demonstration. Please, tell the others to stand back and don't interfere. Whatever happens." 

O'Neill considered for a moment. By training and temperament, he didn't like taking things on trust, but MacLeod was obviously not going to be argued with and he'd probably do better at this "challenge" without interference. He was a couple of hundred years old, as near as they could work out from his cryptic statements, so he might just know what he was doing. O'Neill gave a hand signal and the other three members of SG-1 fell back, towards the Stargate. Teal'c stood on the steps and Carter was at point, a dozen metres from MacLeod. To Daniel, O'Neill motioned that he should stand at the DHD. "Why, Jack?" "Call it a hunch." "What kind of a hunch?" "The kind of hunch that says, if this goes badly, we'll be in serious trouble. Really serious trouble." 

Muspa Darrka had finished making preparations of his own, to judge from the flickering shadows in the trees. As MacLeod pulled off the camouflage black jacket he'd been issued, a scream of rage pulled his head up. 

Bounding from the darkness, like a Norse beserker, was a wiry giant. Darrka was at least seven feet tall, flying down to MacLeod with long strides, sword up-raised and a ceaseless scream of murder bellowing from his mouth. 

MacLeod simply set his feet firmly, gripped the ivory handle of his sword as tightly as possible and waited, watching his opponent carefully. This seeming amateur might be pulling a clever bluff. 

He wasn't. As the swords smashed together, Carter felt sure that something should break; either one of the swords or one of the arms. However, MacLeod was far more experienced in the art and theory of sword fighting, so he just turned the edge of his katana and shifted his body-weight. This allowed Darrka's own kinetic energy to bounce his body several yards past MacLeod. 

They faced each other, alone in the ultimate Immortal test. MacLeod knew that a hesitation, a distraction, could be fatal now. He had to try and talk to this Immortal, though. This could all be a mistake. "Look, we just want to-" "Rule in my place!" yelled Darrka. "I will kill you first!" "Listen, man, I don't want to rule anything-" "Silence! The great one placed me here. I will rule this scum for all eternity." "We just want-" "My slaves! You will not have them. They are mine!" 

As they talked, MacLeod blocked every wild swing of Darrka's sword. He had no technique; just the hack's of someone cutting down a tree. MacLeod's only danger was dropping his weapon, as each hack jarred his wrist. 

Darrka's vaguely North American Indian features were distorted into a wild grimace. His plain, but rich and thick, woven clothes flapped round his sweaty body, as he flung himself into each massive sweep. MacLeod could have killed him many times and it was clear his words were wasted. This man was plainly a tyrant here and saw MacLeod as a rival. Darrka only wanted to kill him. MacLeod couldn't explain, negotiate or reason with him and was rapidly losing the will to try, as Darrka's cries of repression mounted. Still, he had to try. He had to try quickly, before the sheer physical effort of blocking Darrka wore him down. "Look, just calm down! We want-" 

Darrka, surprisingly, sprang back, whirling his sword to point upward at MacLeod's neck. "Nothing! You are nothing. You will have nothing. I will destroy you and all others who try to free my slaves. Now die!" He leapt forward, swinging, out of control. MacLeod, accepting that he had no choice, dropped his shoulder and leaned down, allowing the wide metal blade to pass over him. 

Before Darrka could recover his balance, MacLeod gripped his sword in two hands and pivoted off his back foot. The slice was a cool, controlled sweep; passing through Darrka's neck in it's upward curve. Darrka's head dropped to the spongy grass, bouncing slightly. MacLeod didn't truly notice, as he readied himself for the Quickening. 

The blue flashes of power flickered from the body, moved erratically towards MacLeod like malevolent heat lightening. As the darkness gathered and MacLeod dropped to his knees, he noticed that some of the tendrils were moving rapidly to the Stargate, as though drawn to it. Then the power hit him. Feeling as though it was inserted between every cell of his body, MacLeod gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. 

SG-1 watched in amazement. They had fought ancient alien slugs, living out parasitic lives in human bodies, believing themselves to be gods from ancient human history; but this was a new level of surreal. O'Neill's characteristic comment, "You have to be kidding." summed up the moment. All four were so intent on the spectacle of MacLeod, now floating several inches off the ground, that they didn't notice that the familiar whine of the Stargate charging up had begun. 

MacLeod, immobile and facing the Stargate, could see the ring begin to spin, but was helpless to say a word. He was hovering between agony and ecstasy; watching the huge circle get faster. 

Carter turned first, the build-up of sound impinging on her consciousness. She span round and saw the Stargate crackling with energy, rotating far faster than it ever had before. "Colonel!" she warned and saw O'Neill spin round. Not waiting for an order, she raced across the few feet that separated her from MacLeod and flung herself at him. His helpless body offered no resistance and they landed hard on the ground. As she rolled away, she heard a scream of tortured metal and a huge arch of blue light passed over her. 

The blue arch of energy accelerated out from the Stargate, until it reached the tree line. It didn't cut through the trees, it smashed them over; decimated a widening ring of forest. It's energy slowly dissipated, leaving an altered tree line. The field the Stargate was in now made the smaller part of a figure eight. The large part was the remains of the forest. As SG-1 and MacLeod got up, there was the occasional creak and snap of an injured tree. The stumps of the trees, all about three feet high, were still in the ground; surrounded by the fallen lumps of wood they had been their other halves. 

MacLeod, recovering rapidly, flipped himself upright and held out a hand for Carter. She gripped it and then pulled herself up. Teal'c, who had obviously been the one to tackle Daniel, was picking him up, to Daniel's complaint. O'Neill, brushing the dirt off his uniform, jogged over to Carter and MacLeod. "Any ideas what just happened, Captain?" he asked. "Well, sir, I'd guess that the Stargate couldn't use whatever energy we just saw to create a wormhole. It just stored the energy until it's capacity was reached, then-" Carter broke off to wave at the devastation, "then it had to go somewhere, sir." "Great." O'Neill replied conversationally. Without changing his tone, he turned to fully face MacLeod and said, "So what was that 'energy'?" Then his voice took on its tenser, more sarcastic tone. "And why did it come out of that guy when you chopped off his head?" 

MacLeod was breathing heavily, still recovering. O'Neill did deserve to know, he thought. He had agreed to tell them about Immortals and, off hand, he couldn't think of any other explanation other than the truth. "That was a Quickening. It is the… power, I suppose, of an Immortal life. When one of us is killed, it leaves them and, sort of, 'goes into' the other Immortal." Seeing O'Neill sceptical look, MacLeod hurriedly tried to expand. "I'm not trying to fool you, it's just that we don't really understand what happens, ourselves." "Ok, all that I can accept. Maybe. But two things. One, don't ever do that near a Stargate again, you could of killed us. Two, why did you have to fight at all?" O'Neill continued, as Daniel and Teal'c arrived at a jog. "Well…" "O'Neill." Teal'c said, staring past the Colonel's shoulder to the trees. "Not right now." O'Neill was intent on MacLeod. "Uh, Jack?" Daniel's voice had that tone that always denoted trouble. "What?" "You know you said we might be in trouble if this went badly?" "Yes?" O'Neill drew out the word, pivoting slowly to face Daniel. "Well, I think it did, so we might just be." "We might just be?" 

O'Neill completed his revolution and faced the bunch of trees where Muspa Darrka had hidden. Coming out, slowly and cautiously, were hundreds of people. They were wearing rags and had large flat faces. They were human, but their fat, round features seemed to have been pushed down hard, flattening them into their grey skin. They walked slowly and falteringly, holding on to each other. They also moved like people in a dream. Some had stopped and where crying. Others where touching every plant, tree and rock they could. 

Even at their shambling pace, the leaders of the group reached MacLeod and SG-1 in a minute. It had been a busy minute. O'Neill had spread Carter and Teal'c out to the left and right, pushed Daniel to the back and gripped MacLeod's arm. MacLeod looked down at the hand, then at O'Neill's tense face. "No offence, but I want you where I can see you." MacLeod registered the tightness in O'Neill's voice and allowed him to retain his grip. 

When the front edge of the group reached them, more were still emerging from the trees. It was now difficult to see the grass for all the people. Another things that was bothering SG-1 was the intent of the people. They were all now staring at MacLeod. Not with any kind of expression, good or bad, just blank staring. Even those who had cried, or examined, were advancing at him. 

Three people moved a forward, until they were right in front of MacLeod. O'Neill, completely ignored by them, tried some of his famous diplomacy. "Hi. How's it going?" As his hand waved feebly, O'Neill knew that whatever was going to happen next, it was going to happen to MacLeod. 

They grovelled. First the three leaders, then the entire group; by this time hundreds of people. They grovelled to MacLeod, each person orientating themselves to point directly at them. "What is your whim, undying master?" one of the leaders asked. His tone got to MacLeod and the others. It wasn't afraid, or worshipping, or sarcastic; just tired and depressed. MacLeod, with more experience, had a good idea what had happened to this people and began to feel himself get angry. 

Daniel, who had already gone down in MacLeod's metal book as one of the most naïve people he had ever known, pushed himself forward. "Please, get up. Who are you?" "Shall we kill this slave, master?" Again, the quiet, tired voice got to MacLeod. The man wasn't apprehensive or angry, just resigned. "Kill what slave?" Daniel continued. "Daniel." As he turned, MacLeod moved him gently back. "I think I know what they mean." MacLeod then raised his voice. "Get up, please." The reaction was what he had expected. As one person, the people stood, but there was a murmur at the tone of his voice. "Yes, undying one?" It was the other man of the three, but the tone was the same. Except for the slightest possibility of an edge of hope. "Look at me." MacLeod put effort into the command. His voice wasn't raised, it was not an order, but the man had to obey. "All of you. Look at me." Having to raise his voice to be heard, MacLeod saw a few of the crowd flinch involuntarily. His expression hardened. "I am not your master. You are free now. I will not rule you. As this man is dead, you must rule yourselves." 

There was silence. MacLeod could hear O'Neill's breathing, fast and tense. Then, slowly, the three leaders turned to face the crowd. The woman, who had not spoken so far, raised both arms. Still there was silence, for a long moment. "Sir?" Carter whispered, flinching inwardly at the sound of her own voice. "They're crying, sir." "I know, Captain. Let them." 

They were crying. Every single person in the mass of humanity was silently allowing tears to run down their face. Just as slowly, the three leaders turned back. "Thank you." Now there was emotion in the first man's voice. Sheer, unbelieving, relief. "Why have you done this?" there was emotion in the woman's voice too, that of disbelief, with just a note of suspicion. "I don't believe in slavery." answered MacLeod. He gestured to the body of Muspa Darrka. "Whatever he did to you, I doubt you deserved it. All I want from you is information on how he got here." "But we would also like to know all about you. I'm Daniel, this is Jack…" 

As Daniel's familiar introduction went on, Teal'c moved closer to MacLeod. "I am interested, Duncan MacLeod. Why do you desire to know about this man?" "Well, he's an Immortal, which is another reason I came through the gate. I want to know if we are well known to these people. Mainly, though, I want to know how he came to rule these people." "Why is that?" Carter broke in. "He said, 'the great one placed me here'. We chased Kobol here. Seems like a good place to start for information." The villagers, who were now almost unafraid, began to lead the five towards the trees, where their village lay. As they where pulled apart, O'Neill managed to hiss to MacLeod, "I still want to talk to you." 

TOBAL VILLAGE, SOUTHERN LANDS, P4C-734 - 22nd March 1997: MacLeod finally managed to sneak away after hours of speeches of praise, gifts and spontaneous dancing. He hoped that in the darkness of the planet's 20 hour day, the people, who called themselves the Rhisians, wouldn't miss him. He moved over in a low crouch, the glow of the huge bonfire that had been erected behind him. The sparks flew out and around, as the Rhisians, who had now dressed themselves in far more colourful woven clothes, danced and whirled about the fire. The seemed to have no steps, or rules and occasionally, when the musicians grew tired, no music. It didn't matter; they just had to express their joy. They danced until they were exhausted, then retired to one of the smaller fires that dotted around the main bonfire to recover, before beginning again. 

It was around one of these fires that SG-1 had gathered. Normally, when a group of aliens meet one of the SG teams, they were shy, quite and spent most of their time staring. Not the Rhisians. After being taken on a perfunctory tour of the village, actually big enough to be called a town, but in the technological state of wood huts, the people had got on with their celebrations, showing the four to a fire. Occasionally one of the people milling past would hug them, but other than that they were left alone. 

O'Neill was leaning back, his cap over his eyes, when MacLeod glided silently into the group. Carter was enjoying the Rhisians dancing, several feet to O'Neill's right; while Teal'c was standing, looking towards the grey mountains that dominated the skyline behind the village. MacLeod slid into the glow of the firelight and sat down. "Nice of you to join us." O'Neill pushed up his hat and grinned at MacLeod. "How's it going?" he continued. "Fine." MacLeod answered, shortly. He knew that O'Neill wanted answers. He knew he deserved them. The deal was that they would be told about Immortals and events had really forced the timing. Still, MacLeod wished that he could avoid telling these people, that he knew so little about, the secrets of the Immortals. He liked them, he just didn't know if he could trust them. "Daniel's just talking to the Governors." O'Neill thankfully and unexpectedly changed the subject, talking about the three people who had lead the group at the Stargate, "You where right, this Kobol guy did come through here." "Good. We should follow him first thing in the morning." MacLeod responded, still not meeting O'Neill's gaze. "Well, 'Great Saviour'," As O'Neill hunched forward, closer to the fire, MacLeod realised that Carter and Teal'c where listening closely now. O'Neill's tone and expression didn't change, as he said, "Is it likely this Kobol will survive us following him?" O'Neill didn't like forcing the situation like this, especially when MacLeod represented such an unknown quantity, but he needed to know if any more sword-wielding maniacs where due to appear. MacLeod himself seemed like a coiled spring, containing deadly power, but holding it in. 

MacLeod knew he had to tell them the truth. They would need it to face Kobol and it would certainly make his job easier. As he wondered how to begin, Daniel trotted up to the group, his usual boundless enthusiasm showing. "Guys! This is incredible! These people have never worshipped the Gua'ould!" This statement was enough to stop O'Neill's inquiry of MacLeod. Daniel continued, in the same breath. "Apparently, they were a colony created purely as a population group for labour. They had many people taken each year by the Gua'ould, but never had to observe the religion. The Gua'ould where just rulers, not Gods." "That's great, Danny, but…" O'Neill hadn't taken his eyes of MacLeod, as he tried to cut off the flow from Daniel. He was obviously excited at finding a people subservient to the Gua'ould, who were not forced to worship them. "Yes, they seem to have been kept at a low technological level, discouraged from asking questions; all the things we've seen from the Gua'ould, but not religious overtones. Apparently, there had been no one through the Stargate for months, before this Kobol arrived. They were just beginning to hope that the had been forgotten when he turned up." "What did he do to them? How did he crush their spirit in such a short time?" Carter wanted to know, as they all did. Kobol came to the planet straight from Earth, that's how they had followed him. He couldn't have been there more than two weeks, yet he had managed to suppress, crush and terrify the entire people. He had done it so thoroughly that they were prepared to accept any command from an Immortal. 

"Well…uh…" Daniel's enthusiasm evaporated, his expression becoming one that the rest of SG-1 recognised. Daniel didn't like what he was about to say. "It seems he is a… er… psychopath. He just kept killing and torturing people." 

O'Neill and Carter stared at Daniel, there mouths hanging open; even Teal'c managed to look shocked. The idea of an un-killable man slaughtering a defenceless people was horribly disturbing; especially when you felt partly responsible for his arrival. MacLeod couldn't look up and continued to stare at the dust kicked up by the point of his sword. "I was take to what seems to be, ah, a mass grave." Daniel continued. "The Rhisians aren't exactly forthcoming about the exact details, but it seems that they weren't allowed to bury them properly." "All right, Daniel, we've got the idea." O'Neill had seen many unpleasant things while serving his country, but this was one he didn't want to see. "So, moving on. What made this Kobol guy leave?" O'Neill turned to MacLeod. Did old Muspha see him off?" "No. He said it himself. He was 'placed' here." MacLeod had managed to get the details from the Rhisians during the celebrations. They weren't happy to talk about it, but MacLeod could be most insistent. "Apparently, Kobol came through the Gate. He…" MacLeod paused for a fraction of a second. He had taken life, many times, but still hated unnecessary killing. He could see from the expressions of SG-1 that they agreed with him. "killed many of them and demanded that they treat him as their ruler. They obeyed." "The Gua'ould System Lord of this planet has not enforced the usual discipline." Teal'c announced. "Care to translate that one for us, Teal'c?" O'Neill sarcastic tone was back. "The people of this world were surprisingly quick to change their allegiance. The Gua'ould rule by fear, which is difficult to conquer." "Well, you managed it, Teal'c. So did Bra'tac." Daniel observed, sitting down between O'Neill and Carter. "Perhaps these people simply hated the Gua'ould more than Kobol." "I'm afraid not." MacLeod went on quietly. "These people worshipped Kobol because they were more afraid of him than the Gua'ould." "Oh." 

Daniel's realisation affected them all. Trying to comprehend the slaughter of hundreds was never easy. The human mind seems adapted to individuals rather than masses. Even Teal'c, experience in many battles, disliked the details of this horror. MacLeod, who knew the details, would of agreed with him. "Kobol was only here for a few days, most of which he spent killing. On the third, he found Muspa Darrka. He was in the state we call pre-Immortal." Seeing that Daniel was going to ask, MacLeod explained "The only way to know if you are an Immortal is when you take an mortal wound and survive. Before this happens, you would be a pre-Immortal. Often, other Immortals can sense this. Kobol found Darrka and killed him." "Excuse me? Killed him?" O'Neill was getting confused with the casual way MacLeod discussed death. "He stabbed him through the chest. Making him an Immortal. He told him that more Immortals would come through the Gate and that he was to kill them by decapitating them. In return, Kobol would allow Darrka to rule these people. I have no doubt Darrka was as ruthless and evil as Kobol and had to prove that before…" "Wait a minute." O'Neill placed both hands out to MacLeod, gesturing him to stop. "Let's go back to the decapitation bit, shall we? Why is that so important?" "It is the only way to kill an Immortal. We cannot die from any wound. We live forever, unless our head is separated from our shoulders." 

"Hold on," O'Neill managed, "You mean you people spend eternity trying to chop each others heads off?" He paused for effect. "Why?" "We have existed since the dawn of time, living in secret. At the time of the Gathering, we will be drawn together to fight. We will fight until only one remains. That one will win the Prize; which is whatever they most desire. Before then... well, some Immortals play the Game anyway." 

As MacLeod finished, the four members of SG-1 stared at each other. Their faces clearly communicated what they thought. Daniel, always one to leap in, voiced it: "That all sounds very... nice. What does it mean, exactly?" MacLeod sighed. This was going to take a while. 

PLANET P4-586, 18th MARCH, 1997 The early morning sunlight, only just deserving of not being called dawn, glinted off the Stargate. It also reflected off the dull armour and weapons of the Jaffa; the terrifying enforcers of the Gua'ould. As always on a System Lord's home planet, the Stargate was heavily and constantly guarded. The squad of Jaffa was sixty strong, with reinforcements only minutes away. 

Half the squad marched around the Stargate, constantly moving. After an hour of this, they would swap with the other thirty, who kept a stationary vigil. They did not question why walking around the Chapa'ai kept it safer, just as they did not question any order of their God, Amun-Ra. The dew of the day was still present on everything. The grass the Stargate was placed on, the DHD a few feet in front and the fourteen stones that ringed, roughly a dozen yards from it. As always, positioned behind some of these were several Jaffa with Staff weapons. The site of the Chapa'ai might be holy, but cover was cover. 

The dew also glistened on the Jaffa; as they kept their watch. It glistened as they had been on duty here during the night and were not due to be relieved for two more hours. They were tired and accustomed to an uneventful duty. 

When the Stargate began to engage, however, their intensive training showed. Before the fifth symbol locked, all weapons where pointed at the sacred circle. The leader of the squad, Jas'c, as his duty and honour necessitated, stood close, by the DHD. He waited, with his face emotionless, as the sequence was completed. As with all things to do with the Chapa'ai, the address meant nothing to him. The fact that it was engaging, however, did mean something to him. It meant trouble. 

The man who span through the Stargate seemed like that trouble personified. He paused with unnatural poise and speed, gazing at the Jaffa. His eyes seemed to burn through the squad leader, almost making him turn aside. Jas'c was young and inexperienced, but he knew this would be a very bad idea.  he shouted to his men. The man who had come through the Chapa'ai started at the sound, like a frightened animal... no, not like a frightened animal, thought Jas'c, but like a predator interrupted during a meal. He began to feel afraid, sweat gathering round the gold emblem of Amun-Ra on his pale forehead. 

What was this? More weak fools. Not immortals and probably not human. Of no consequence, just like those last pathetic fools. They won't know where Methos is. Take too much time to kill them all. I'll let them go, for now... 

As the man stalked forward, his eyes glowering, Jas'c raised his arm. Calmly, the squad brought their weapons to bear and readied them to fire. Jas'c knew in that instant, as the flame that burned in Kobol's mind showed in the Immortal's eyes, that he was dead. 

What! They dare threaten me! They die after all... 

Kobol span into the attack, his broadsword slicing off Jas'c's arm at the elbow. The armour the Jaffa wore was not just for show, but parted before the thousand year-old blade, powered by Kobol's madness. As the young man screamed, his squad began firing. They made no attempt to save or protect him. Amun-Ra's commands forbid them to even try. Instead, Jas'c's name was entered into the list every Jaffa held in their mind; the list of warriors who had died for the Gods. Jas'c died as Kobol stabbed viciously at his belly, then his throat. 

The sheer speed of the attack had prevented the first volley of shots from hitting Kobol, but Jas'c's death forced him to stand still. Five blasts hammered him to the ground, fired almost simultaneously. Seeing this enemy, like so many others, fall, the Jaffa stalked slowly forward. As they had all been taught, they carried their weapons parallel to their backs, under their arms. 

They were therefore completely unprepared when Kobol launched himself at them. The blood from his mortal wounds shimmered in the dawn light, left behind, as he seemed to move from the floor to mid-air instantly. 

At close quarters the staff weapons were useless. Kobol, span, dodged and stabbed as the Jaffa frantically tried to retreat to clearer ground. They succeeded only in getting in each other's way, then dying. Kobol had dived into a solid ring of metal and men, but after a few moments he had slaughtered half of them. The lay where they had walked so confidently, Kobol's efficient slashes creating gaps for him to dive through. 

It also created gaps for the others to shoot through. An old veteran, Gara'c, had gestured for several of the Jaffa behind the stones to remain in position when the strange killer had gone down. He blessed this foresight now, as the volley from them dropped Kobol again. That it also killed three good and loyal Jaffa was a matter for later regret. Now, his lord would want to know of this event and this man. He would want to know all about it, very much indeed. Gara'c was not looking forward to trying to explain. 

SOUTHERN LANDS, PLANET RHISIA, 23rd MARCH, 1997: It was early morning on Rhisia as MacLeod woke and stretched. He'd spent the night in a standard Army-issue tent. It was hardly five-star accommodation, even in the balmy Rhisian climate, but compared to some of the night's he'd spent in his life, any covering that was more than your own clothes was luxury. As he began to sweat through his morning routine, MacLeod realised what he was doing. He was attempting to prevent himself thinking about what he had done. He'd explained about the Game to mortals. Again. He knew what Methos would say: 'This is getting to be a habit, MacLeod. I think you should admit that you have a problem.' MacLeod grinned to himself, thinking of the Old Man's inevitable humour. Still, the point was there. He had told these four comparative strangers all about Immortals, only leaving out information about the Watchers. 

They'd taken it well, on the whole. Daniel had become very excited, asking MacLeod dozens of questions. Carter had started trying to explain it away and Teal'c had simply accepted it. As for O'Neill, well, he had made a couple of jokes: 'Cool. You know a way to skip taxes, too?', but really MacLeod had no idea of how he had taken it. That was worrying him. This was O'Neill's arena. MacLeod knew that he would have to go along with O'Neill's plans and decisions. At least, until they found Kobol... 

O'Neill ducked out of his tent, deliberately facing away from MacLeod. He'd heard MacLeod moving around while he got dressed, but he didn't want to engage him in conversation right now. People weren't meant to live forever. It seemed wrong that a man, if that was the word, who looked younger than him, was over four hundred years old. Four hundred! He'd been born when most people hadn't heard of writing. For some reason, it made Jack O'Neill feel very old and tired. He didn't like that. He'd been quite happy to talk to MacLeod, even laugh with him when Daniel fell of his log seat for the second time. Now, he kept examining the situation, not the man. Waving an arm vaguely in response to MacLeod's "Morning, Colonel", O'Neill walked down to the stream the Rhisians used for washing. 

Daniel was walking back, looking indecently alert for a man who had spent half the night talking about the last four hundred years of history. Being Daniel, he'd wanted MacLeod to tell him everything about everything, all at once. O'Neill couldn't help grinning. Daniel was a geek and occasionally a nuisance, but you couldn't help liking him. O'Neill wanted to resent him his Immortal existence, but couldn't... 

Daniel only vaguely noticed Jack walking towards him, until they where practically level. His mind was alive with the thought of four hundred years of living history! The man was a scientist's dream! Daniel wanted to spend a lot more time questioning MacLeod. They had hardly scratched the surface last night, especially since the others had also wanted to ask questions. Even Teal'c had got interested, when it turned out that MacLeod had been a soldier for most of his life. Daniel had to know more. "Jack!" Daniel started, his brain, as always, ahead of his mouth. "We have to study Duncan! I mean, talk to him. We could learn so much-" "Daniel. Breathe. We have to deal with the threat to Earth first. Then you can chat about people who have been dead for centuries with Duncan. It's not the priority. You know that." "I know." Daniel admitted the decision he'd already reached internally. "Why is it, though, that every time we get an opportunity to study something amazing, something goes wrong and stops us?" "Karma. We need to catch up with this Kobol guy, he's got a serious head start. We're moving out in twenty minutes. Pack it up" As O'Neill walked off, Daniel gave a sigh and moved rapidly towards his own tent. He knew was notorious for never packing up on time, but this always happened. Something really interesting cropped up and they got bogged down in these annoying army procedures... 

Cater was inside her own tent, cleaning her gun. Hearing O'Neill's order, she finished up her equipment check. MacLeod was certainly a interesting person, from a scientific viewpoint. He had insights and knowledge about the progression of man that where mind-boggling. Still, he seemed like a normal person. A very calm, certain and knowledgeable person; but still just a guy. There probably wouldn't be any test you could run that would show evidence of his immortality. Still, it could be interesting to try. 

Still, they had to deal with Kobol. The more they found out about him, the more Carter was glad that MacLeod would be the one to deal with him. She'd flown missions in the Gulf War, been taught how to kill by some of the best in the business and fought off an alien being. The description of what this man had done to people was revolting. It was like trying to be detached about Cassandra. Her mind just didn't work that way. She hated this thing... 

Teal'c stood in the sunlight, waiting for his team-mates. He knew that the people of Earth were occasionally very strange. They where passionate about defending their home, yet stopped to discuss events that occurred hundreds of years ago. He could understand the interest, but the timing was odd for the professional warrior he would always be. They were surprisingly effective, if not efficient. While he had joined them as they seemed the most technologically advanced people he had seen, he now knew they where the only people he had seen who had the passion and purpose to defeat the Gua'ould. 

An Immortal soldier could also be very helpful in that fight. It seemed that Duncan MacLeod was only one of thousands of Immortals, but, although all of them could fight with a sword, few where true warriors. MacLeod himself, good man though he seemed to the Jaffa, had seemed evasive when Teal'c had mentioned fighting the Gua'ould. If only there where immortal Jaffa... 

The Rhisians where gathering behind Teal'c, wanting to see them off. Their adulation seemed to have slightly worn off this morning, probably due to the fact that none of them seemed to have gone to sleep. They contented themselves with repeatedly hugging the team as they marched to the Stargate. 

PLANET P4-586, 23rd MARCH, 1997: It had taken three days for Gara'c and two others to reach the palace, dragging the seemingly dead man behind them. Behind them had marched fifteen more Jaffa, their weapons ready and aimed at the corpse. Gara'c had taken no chances, expecting the man to return to life at any moment, all through the long trip. He could just have been lucky or strong the first time, but death seemed a large price to pay to find out. Gara'c was glad he had taken this precaution. Every few hours along the trip, the being had managed to return to life; despite being blasted with high-energy weapons at close range. Once, he had shammed death and managed to injury one of Gara'c's group. 

Gara'c was glad he had decided against using a DeathGlider, which would have let him take the 'man' to the Palace in a hour or two. He would have been over-powered and killed, leaving the being loose in the capital. 

Thinking of this, Gara'c knew death was just as possible in the meeting he was commanded to attend with Amun-Ra. The very fact that he had been immediately taken past functionary after functionary, having only told his story twice, was worrying enough. Normally, any report, even of the death of a Jaffa, would go through dozens upon dozens of hands before reaching anyone close to Amun-Ra. This time, his immediate superior seemed to invoke a spell, simply muttering to the bureaucrat of each level of importance and being waved on. This was worrying, but the very fact of being in Amun-Ra's presence was worse. 

Gara'c had never really examined his personal belief in the Gods. He knew what he was taught and he certainly knew that Amun-Ra could do things he could not. Live forever, for one. He had carried the infant Gua'ould within him, as all Jaffa did, but never considered their right to rule. It was simply the way things were arranged. No, he did not want to be in Amun-Ra's presence for a far more basic reason. The Gua'ould would have him put to death if what he reported failed to be important or interesting. 

Amun-Ra had ruled for thousands of years. It held many planets under his command, but not as many as other Gua'ould of it's stature. The reason was simple. Amun-Ra disliked risks. It knew it had immortality for the taking. Living out existence in a human body was all that was required. Amun-Ra, therefore, gripped stability tightly. No questioning, or innovation was permitted. All Gua'ould crushed rebellions against their religion and order, but Amun-Ra would wipe out the people of a entire continent to insure it. It had done so, several times. Of course, the harder a thing is suppressed, the more it forces it's way out, so Amun-Ra and it's legions of Jaffa where kept busy with it's killing. 

All this went through Gara'c's old but still nimble mind as he stood waiting in the main audience chamber. He knew that if the news he bought was unwelcome, or Amun-Ra believed this undying man was more of a threat than a blessing, he would order Gara'c be killed. It would probably have it done by one of the men from his own squad, now standing behind him, guarding the prisoner. Amun-Ra was said to enjoy the irony, as it would then order the death of the entire squad. 

Knowing this, Gara'c and the squad stood silently and patiently. They all knew the risk they ran, but it was part of serving God. They would die for it in battle, so why not in its audience chamber. The chamber itself was designed to make sure they never forgot this. Made of the standard, pale stone of all Gua'ould buildings, it was immense. The columns that defined the room towered up into the air, their tops lost in the darkness that never left even in the midday light. Now, early in the morning, the dust motes still danced in the beams of pale yellow light that passed through the gaps allowing Amun-Ra to observe his capital city of Ashok. This view was as ostentatious as possible, the audience chamber being at least 100 meters up from the ground level of the huge pyramid that served as Amun-Ra's home, government and ship. 

The wall hangings, furniture and decorations added to the impression of all-conquering and unlimited power that Amun-Ra craved. The fabric was the richest and thickest, the metal used always gold, the wood polished and fragrant. Gara'c thought, in the private part of his mind he had long since locked away, that it was all far too much. You weren't impressed, just crowded. Still, it prevented you from moving in the presence of God, as scratching or even knocking something would certainly be met with death. Amun-Ra tolerated no failures, no matter how small. 

As Gara'c continued to stand there, with his men, he considered that Amun-Ra's own failure, on the other hand, was not even allowed to exist; officially. When it had battled Ra for control of the System Lords, so Jaffa legend went, it had be routed; forced to flee back to its current homeworld, the last planet it controlled. The fact that it had not been destroyed was because... 

A gasp of breath, followed instantly by the blast of staff weapons, shocked Gara'c out of his musing and made him spin round. Once more the strange alien, as he must be, had come back from the dead. He was now visiting it again. Gara'c doubted that he would stay long. 

At least the sound of weapon fire had brought courtiers hurrying forward. Most Gua'ould would have joined them, although only with it's personal bodyguard of Jaffa. Amun-Ra was different, despite it's pretensions to rule the Gua'ould. It had learned caution. As Gara'c explained to the fussing bureaucrats, they fell silent, realising that here was something that could bring their deaths. The consequences of Amun-Ra's displeasure had been felt often. 

A guard Jaffa was sent to inform the God that all was safe and then Amun-Ra finally appeared. As always he was surrounded by the women and children that would form his human shield, a predilection it had copied from Ra. However, to Gara'c's trained eye, it was obvious that the entourage was smaller than usual. Amun-Ra was clearly limiting who would have access to this information. 

Despite this the entrance was still impressive. With the heavy wooden doors pulled open by thick-set slaves, the clash of the bodyguard Jaffas' boots, the solemn faces of the priest-advisors and finally, the haughty expression on Amun-Ra's human face, it was automatic response for Gara'c and his men to kneel before their God. 

Their God's current physically form was that off a classic Egyptian, although Gara'c had never heard of the name. Atop a tall, well-built frame, the thin and body head appeared sharp and fierce. The dark skin was soft and decorated, but Amun-Ra's every te engaging. They were to aim at the centre and be ready to fire. 

Had they been older or had experience at ordering their own defence, someone might of thought to have a secondary line of defence, or to have the Stargate covered from more then one angle. As it was, they simply lined up, aimed at chest height and waited; ready to kill for their God. 

SG-1, briefed by Teal'c and experienced at fighting Jaffa, knew the tactic awaiting them. O'Neill and Teal'c, arriving first, came through at a dive, firing. They immediately pulled to each side of the Gate, pulling the shocked Jaffa's aim away from the Gate; so Cater and Duncan could come through safely. 

Their initial shots had been enough to wound several Jaffa, but not to kill; so the two men found themselves under heavy, if disorganised fire for several frightening seconds. When the second two arrived, though, the Jaffa's thin plan of battle disintegrated. With every man unsure of which of the four targets they should aim at, the hail of fire changed to a mild shower. 

Duncan, moving through the Stargate, knew that, without a gun, he would be little use in a long range firefight. O'Neill, new to immortality, obviously expected him to charge the enemy unscathed. Duncan made a metal note to remind him of the difference between 'Immortality' and 'invulnerability'. Still, it was better than any plan he'd got. 

Dropping off the Gate steps, MacLeod raced at the guards. The Jaffa, lacking leadership, did not fire on him calmly, but retreated. In seconds, MacLeod was in their midst. It seemed as though the nightmare enemy had returned, cutting and stabbing. This, however, was no madman, out of practice and driven only by madness. It was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, generally considered to be the most lethal man that Earth had ever seen. MacLeod did not grin with manic pleasure, he did not twist his blade in wounds to hear the screams. He simply got on with it, efficiently and quickly. 

With this chaos in the enemy ranks, SG-1 fanned out and established a cross-fire. With Daniel staying on the steps, dropping to one knee to fire both his pistols simultaneously, Carter and O'Neill rolled, dived and scrambled out fifteen yards from the Gate on each side, curving round the Jaffa. Teal'c used the DHD as cover and created his own confusion; his staff weapon blasts mingling with the enemies. 

As the element of surprise wore off, the Jaffas' natural instinct for survival began to move them. They weren't just going to stand still and be killed. The break in formation wasn't ordered or planned, but it was effective. O'Neill suddenly saw that five large Jaffa were racing straight at him. "Teal'c!" he yelled, dropping two of them with a sustained burst. Teal'c seeing his friend in trouble, increased his rate of fire, losing some of his accuracy, and took out the nearest Jaffa. His blast also checked the run of the other two, allowing O'Neill to roll to one side and take them. As he turned to yell his thanks to Teal'c, O'Neill saw MacLeod, now standing alone as the Jaffa scrambled away, with his back to a charging enemy. 

The Jaffa in question had lost his staff weapon from a blast by Carter and wished to regain his honour by killing the sword-wielding enemy. He rushed at MacLeod, arms wide to crush the life out of him. MacLeod, aware of the rush of air, turned his body and stabbed the point of his sword into the Jaffa's forehead. The gold of Amun-Ra's symbol offered no resistance as the dead warrior's weight dragged MacLeod's arm down. 

Carter hadn't seen this, as two of the Jaffa had managed to reach the cover of one of the stones and had her pinned down, at the side of the steps. "Daniel! Shoot at the stone!" she called up to the archaeologist. Daniel, who in these situations just fired as much as possible at anyone, switched target in a second. As Carter expected, the shots hit the stone harmlessly, but were a distraction. The Jaffa instinctively pulled themselves back and took cover. She sprinted from her position, reaching a stone of her own. As the opposing pair took a couple of wild shots at Daniel, she simply leaned out and raked the stone. The two shuddered and dropped. 

The remaining Jaffa now had no chance, as Carter had opened up a clear channel to their rear. She and Daniel raced forward and the Jaffa were under fire from two sides, with nowhere to retreat. In a few minutes it was over, the last two remaining Jaffa breaking and running, as though on some unspoken command. 

In the post-battle silence, MacLeod examined the minor injuries that he had picked up. Two hairline fractures in his ribs, which were already healing and some severe bruising. Nothing he wouldn't walk off in a few minutes. The others moved up, checking the bodies for movement and staying low. "I think it would be a real good idea to take an advanced course in the coverage offered by trees right now." O'Neill ordered them out with a quick hand gesture, then kept them moving at steady jog for twenty minutes, until they reached a partial clearing in the woods. An oak-like tree had fallen across the track, giving them cover and the surrounding trees where sparse, giving them good lines of sight and fire. Judging that they where as safe as they where going to be on this planet, O'Neill ordered them down and to talk in whispers. "Ok, people. We just trashed the Jaffa guarding the Gate on a Gua'ould homeworld, without getting more than scratches. Anyone else think that's odd?" "We weren't followed, sir." Carter, highly trained in special operations, had tailed slightly behind to cover their tracks. "Ok, that cheers me up, but not a lot" O'Neill slumped down, his back against the log, reloading his gun. "You are correct, O'Neill. The Gate was lightly guarded. I believe I can confirm that the Immortal is on this planet and has been captured." That Teal'c had managed to collect the evidence he needed in the middle of a battle, no one questioned. It was what he did. "Oh, that doesn't cheer me up." O'Neill morosely commented. "How could you tell, Teal'c?" MacLeod asked. "The guards at the Gate would only leave their positions in order to escort something or someone to a superior. However, the leader of the squad was lying dead, before we arrived. He was killed with a bladed weapon. As their where not enough bodies to account for lack of guards, some must have left." "And the chances of there being two sword-wielding maniacs arriving on this planet are tiny." O'Neill agreed, then glanced at MacLeod. "Present company accepted, of course." "Of course." MacLeod replied, smiling. "Ok, people, this is rapidly becoming or worse case scenario. The Gua'ould here is going to know there are immortal hosts and I doubt our little incursion will go unnoticed. Getting out is going to be a lot harder than getting in." "We have to try to get to Kobol before the Gua'ould realises what it has." Daniel spoke up. "I know, I know." O'Neill replied quickly "Look, we need more information. We're going to try to get closer to the pyramid. Maybe we'll get lucky. 

Amun-Ra had quickly demanded new clothes for it's new body. While dressing in the proper manner for a Gua'ould System Lord, it had told it's priests to announce that it would broadcast to the people. The priests, along with everyone else, could see the insane fire that raged through their god and scurried to obey. That left only Gara'c in the presence of his God, along with two Jaffa that served as Amun-Ra's most personal bodyguards. Gara'c knew that for Amun-Ra to leave the rest of it's guard behind, something truly crucial occur. The two guards where deaf and dumb, trained to respond to hand gestures known only to Amun-Ra. Gara'c felt uncertain and out of place. He was a foot-solider; mingling with Gods did not sit well with him. 

< So, you are the one to who we are so indebted for this gift. > crooned the body that, apart from the occasional twitch, was now completely under the lava's control. Indeed, the human seemed to welcome it, once he had seen the power of the Gua'ould in his mind. < Myself and my squad, my lord, which is sadly depleted. May I return them to the Chapa'ai to safe-guard it? > It was bordering on impudence to ask a direct question, but Gara'c was worried about the others without his guidance. < There is no need. > Gara'c relaxed, reminding himself that this was God. Of course, it would already have dealt with this matter. < They are dead. > 

The flat tone of voice stopped Gara'c for a second. He had often wondered about the expression, 'freezing the blood in your veins', but now he knew what it felt like. The utter coldness, the inability to move, think or speak and the sheer shock of a truly horrifying statement. His men, the men he had chosen to come with him, were dead. Dead because his "god" wanted no-one to know of it's unique host.  Gara'c intended to spring at the being in front of him; to commit the ultimate blasphemy and kill a god. He barely managed to tense his body. Amun-Ra slashed out with the sword hanging from Kobol's belt, with the speed of it's race. The sweep was untidy, but effective. Gara'c's head dropped to the floor, rolling away from his body. 

Amun-Ra laughed to itself, secure in the knowing that all those who had come into direct contact with it's new body were dead or dying. It had considered killing all those that had seen it, but couldn't truly be bothered. Everyone would see it soon. 

It flicked another signal to the guards, who clashed the gong that summoned the rest of it's entourage into the room. Standing, Amun-Ra, gestured for the priests to activate the Long-Range Communications Device. It was time to met the people.  It commanded, the words and image being transmitted to every home, every village hall and every person on the planet. < I am your God, Amun-Ra... 

...this new body is the one that shall carry me to conquer the entire galaxy. Believe your god, when I tell you that I am now invincible!> "Yack, yack, yack. What's wrong with 'Good evening, ladies and germs'?" O'Neill whispered. SG-1 and MacLeod where crouched in high bushes, in the outskirts of a small village. It had appeared deserted when they had stopped to rest, but a signal of some kind had brought everyone running back. Teal'c had believed that the signal was an announcement for the people to 'heed their god'. but could not be sure. O'Neill had decided to hang around and now wished he hadn't. The public globe that was relaying the message to the empty square was announcing the worst of his fears. This Gua'ould wanted the lot and had an Immortal body to use to get it. "That's Kobol." MacLeod confirmed, grimly. "It is not." Teal'c answered him. "It's is his body, controlled by the Gua'ould." "What does that mean?" "It means we are in serious trouble. It's going to be a lot harder to get this guy as a Gua'ould. Still, we're going to contain this. Come on."O'Neill led his dispirited team into the woods, at a silent jog. 

As Amun-Ra finished it's speech, promising it's people the galaxy, but giving no definite plans, a priest whispered that some more Jaffa from the Chapa'ai had arrived. More attackers had come through! As soon as the man finished his message, Amun-Ra felt a flood of rage rush through it's new body. Yet with it there was satisfaction, as the other's memories showed what this new threat must be. < Methos! > cried the alien, it madness now total. < Summon the legions. We will begin my dominance of the galaxy by crushing these slaves. > it announced to the room, creating a frenzy of action. People scurried to organise the Jaffa and to convert the pyramid to it's battle mode. It amused Amun-Ra to think that these preparations where unnecessary. It was now invincible! It even smiled as it's First Prime stepped forward to receive his orders. That smile made him more nervous than the thought of leading the men into battle, Amun-Ra realised. Well, he would not be leading them. < I shall command the attack. I will be the one to kill them, understand? > The First Prime bowed. 

Yet again, the team heard the tiny taps of metal on metal, that revealed the presence of a Gua'ould squad. Yet again, O'Neill signalled them to halt and peered through the trees until he could get a view. Yet again, the squad was between them and the Stargate, forcing them to their left. This time, however, O'Neill felt that it was time to act. 

After creeping back to the other four, O'Neill spoke in a whisper. "Ok. They are definitely guarding the Gate. I want to know why. There are only four of them and their are definitely not at 100% concentration. I want us to take them fast and without killing anybody. This is about information, Ok?" Noting the nods, O'Neill outlined the plan. 

Back again at the tree's, O'Neill peered out at the four foot-soldiers of Amun-Ra. They were still clustered in a group. Remembering his own first tour of duty, O'Neill recognised that they where discussing their own lives, convinced nothing would happen to them. They even had their heads uncovered. He look to Teal'c and MacLeod, who had circled around to each side of the squad. He nodded to Daniel, waiting behind them to start the shooting if anything went wrong. O'Neill and Carter them began to creep forward, bending low. 

They reached their two designated targets silently. Carter's was knocked out with three scientific rabbit punches to the head, while O'Neill simply slammed the butt of his gun in the top of his guy's neck. The other two, heading these thumps, span round. Carter and O'Neill instantly dropped to the floor and rolled away, completely confusing their attackers. This was the plan, as Teal'c and MacLeod raced in from the sides; towards the guards' now unprotected backs. 

Unfortunately, MacLeod's man managed to spot Teal'c; a second before Teal'c slammed into his man. As he was plunged to the floor, the Jaffa let off a purely reflex shot, shouting wildly. It slammed into the chest of his partner, blowing apart his amour. MacLeod, changed his approach and dropped the shouting guard. "Oh, this is not good." O'Neill noted, getting to his feet. Daniel sprinted over, his guns out, but saw the situation was contained. The only conscious Jaffa was in no state to fight back. He was barely conscious, the blood flooding out of him. This was well beyond his Gua'ould's ability to heal. 

Seeing the blurred shapes above him and knowing that these were the enemies his god had sent him to kill, he used his last breathe to inform them of their fate. He would die with honour. "God is coming for you." he heaved, his breath whistling out of him. "He is waiting... to destroy you." 

Teal'c leaned down and closed the Jaffa's eyes. Their was a moment of silence, then O'Neill made his decision. "We're leaving." The other four reacted predictably, so O'Neill simply held up his hand. "They know we're here. They know about Immortal's. The entire Jaffa army of this guy is hunting us. This mission is over. Let's get home." There was no argument. 

SG-1 and MacLeod sprinted as fast stealth would allow through the forest. After a only a few hundred yards, the sudden blast of a staff weapon striking the ground knocked O'Neill over. He rolled as he landed, instinctively yelling, "Take cover!" 

The Jaffa knew that they where not to kill anyone armed with a sword, but didn't know why. Their God was acting very strangely. First the change of host, then the announcement that they would conquer the universe and now the fact that it was leading an attack on 'outsiders'? They had to follow there God and it's ways were mysterious, they had agreed. They now lay down fire, seeking only to prevent the five from moving, while they reported their position to the First Prime. The curt response came back, < Our God is coming. Do not kill them! > The ten Jaffa of the squad didn't know why their God was coming, or why he would kill the strangers. They just knew that they had to keep them their. With quick hand gestures, they began to encircle the targets. 

SG-1 and MacLte engaging. They were to aim at the centre and be ready to fire. 

Had they been older or had experience at ordering their own defence, someone might of thought to have a secondary line of defence, or to have the Stargate covered from more then one angle. As it was, they simply lined up, aimed at chest height and waited; ready to kill for their God. 

SG-1, briefed by Teal'c and experienced at fighting Jaffa, knew the tactic awaiting them. O'Neill and Teal'c, arriving first, came through at a dive, firing. They immediately pulled to each side of the Gate, pulling the shocked Jaffa's aim away from the Gate; so Cater and Duncan could come through safely. 

Their initial shots had been enough to wound several Jaffa, but not to kill; so the two men found themselves under heavy, if disorganised fire for several frightening seconds. When the second two arrived, though, the Jaffa's thin plan of battle disintegrated. With every man unsure of which of the four targets they should aim at, the hail of fire changed to a mild shower. 

Duncan, moving through the Stargate, knew that, without a gun, he would be little use in a long range firefight. O'Neill, new to immortality, obviously expected him to charge the enemy unscathed. Duncan made a metal note to remind him of the difference between 'Immortality' and 'invulnerability'. Still, it was better than any plan he'd got. 

Dropping off the Gate steps, MacLeod raced at the guards. The Jaffa, lacking leadership, did not fire on him calmly, but retreated. In seconds, MacLeod was in their midst. It seemed as though the nightmare enemy had returned, cutting and stabbing. This, however, was no madman, out of practice and driven only by madness. It was Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, generally considered to be the most lethal man that Earth had ever seen. MacLeod did not grin with manic pleasure, he did not twist his blade in wounds to hear the screams. He simply got on with it, efficiently and quickly. 

With this chaos in the enemy ranks, SG-1 fanned out and established a cross-fire. With Daniel staying on the steps, dropping to one knee to fire both his pistols simultaneously, Carter and O'Neill rolled, dived and scrambled out fifteen yards from the Gate on each side, curving round the Jaffa. Teal'c used the DHD as cover and created his own confusion; his staff weapon blasts mingling with the enemies. 

As the element of surprise wore off, the Jaffas' natural instinct for survival began to move them. They weren't just going to stand still and be killed. The break in formation wasn't ordered or planned, but it was effective. O'Neill suddenly saw that five large Jaffa were racing straight at him. "Teal'c!" he yelled, dropping two of them with a sustained burst. Teal'c seeing his friend in trouble, increased his rate of fire, losing some of his accuracy, and took out the nearest Jaffa. His blast also checked the run of the other two, allowing O'Neill to roll to one side and take them. As he turned to yell his thanks to Teal'c, O'Neill saw MacLeod, now standing alone as the Jaffa scrambled away, with his back to a charging enemy. 

The Jaffa in question had lost his staff weapon from a blast by Carter and wished to regain his honour by killing the sword-wielding enemy. He rushed at MacLeod, arms wide to crush the life out of him. MacLeod, aware of the rush of air, turned his body and stabbed the point of his sword into the Jaffa's forehead. The gold of Amun-Ra's symbol offered no resistance as the dead warrior's weight dragged MacLeod's arm down. 

Carter hadn't seen this, as two of the Jaffa had managed to reach the cover of one of the stones and had her pinned down, at the side of the steps. "Daniel! Shoot at the stone!" she called up to the archaeologist. Daniel, who in these situations just fired as much as possible at anyone, switched target in a second. As Carter expected, the shots hit the stone harmlessly, but were a distraction. The Jaffa instinctively pulled themselves back and took cover. She sprinted from her position, reaching a stone of her own. As the opposing pair took a couple of wild shots at Daniel, she simply leaned out and raked the stone. The two shuddered and dropped. 

The remaining Jaffa now had no chance, as Carter had opened up a clear channel to their rear. She and Daniel raced forward and the Jaffa were under fire from two sides, with nowhere to retreat. In a few minutes it was over, the last two remaining Jaffa breaking and running, as though on some unspoken command. 

In the post-battle silence, MacLeod examined the minor injuries that he had picked up. Two hairline fractures in his ribs, which were already healing and some severe bruising. Nothing he wouldn't walk off in a few minutes. The others moved up, checking the bodies for movement and staying low. "I think it would be a real good idea to take an advanced course in the coverage offered by trees right now." O'Neill ordered them out with a quick hand gesture, then kept them moving at steady jog for twenty minutes, until they reached a partial clearing in the woods. An oak-like tree had fallen across the track, giving them cover and the surrounding trees where sparse, giving them good lines of sight and fire. Judging that they where as safe as they where going to be on this planet, O'Neill ordered them down and to talk in whispers. "Ok, people. We just trashed the Jaffa guarding the Gate on a Gua'ould homeworld, without getting more than scratches. Anyone else think that's odd?" "We weren't followed, sir." Carter, highly trained in special operations, had tailed slightly behind to cover their tracks. "Ok, that cheers me up, but not a lot" O'Neill slumped down, his back against the log, reloading his gun. "You are correct, O'Neill. The Gate was lightly guarded. I believe I can confirm that the Immortal is on this planet and has been captured." That Teal'c had managed to collect the evidence he needed in the middle of a battle, no one questioned. It was what he did. "Oh, that doesn't cheer me up." O'Neill morosely commented. "How could you tell, Teal'c?" MacLeod asked. "The guards at the Gate would only leave their positions in order to escort something or someone to a superior. However, the leader of the squad was lying dead, before we arrived. He was killed with a bladed weapon. As their where not enough bodies to account for lack of guards, some must have left." "And the chances of there being two sword-wielding maniacs arriving on this planet are tiny." O'Neill agreed, then glanced at MacLeod. "Present company accepted, of course." "Of course." MacLeod replied, smiling. "Ok, people, this is rapidly becoming or worse case scenario. The Gua'ould here is going to know there are immortal hosts and I doubt our little incursion will go unnoticed. Getting out is going to be a lot harder than getting in." "We have to try to get to Kobol before the Gua'ould realises what it has." Daniel spoke up. "I know, I know." O'Neill replied quickly "Look, we need more information. We're going to try to get closer to the pyramid. Maybe we'll get lucky. 

Amun-Ra had quickly demanded new clothes for it's new body. While dressing in the proper manner for a Gua'ould System Lord, it had told it's priests to announce that it would broadcast to the people. The priests, along with everyone else, could see the insane fire that raged through their god and scurried to obey. That left only Gara'c in the presence of his God, along with two Jaffa that served as Amun-Ra's most personal bodyguards. Gara'c knew that for Amun-Ra to leave the rest of it's guard behind, something truly crucial occur. The two guards where deaf and dumb, trained to respond to hand gestures known only to Amun-Ra. Gara'c felt uncertain and out of place. He was a foot-solider; mingling with Gods did not sit well with him. 

< So, you are the one to who we are so indebted for this gift. > crooned the body that, apart from the occasional twitch, was now completely under the lava's control. Indeed, the human seemed to welcome it, once he had seen the power of the Gua'ould in his mind. < Myself and my squad, my lord, which is sadly depleted. May I return them to the Chapa'ai to safe-guard it? > It was bordering on impudence to ask a direct question, but Gara'c was worried about the others without his guidance. < There is no need. > Gara'c relaxed, reminding himself that this was God. Of course, it would already have dealt with this matter. < They are dead. > 

The flat tone of voice stopped Gara'c for a second. He had often wondered about the expression, 'freezing the blood in your veins', but now he knew what it felt like. The utter coldness, the inability to move, think or speak and the sheer shock of a truly horrifying statement. His men, the men he had chosen to come with him, were dead. Dead because his "god" wanted no-one to know of it's unique host.  Gara'c intended to spring at the being in front of him; to commit the ultimate blasphemy and kill a god. He barely managed to tense his body. Amun-Ra slashed out with the sword hanging from Kobol's belt, with the speed of it's race. The sweep was untidy, but effective. Gara'c's head dropped to the floor, rolling away from his body. 

Amun-Ra laughed to itself, secure in the knowing that all those who had come into direct contact with it's new body were dead or dying. It had considered killing all those that had seen it, but couldn't truly be bothered. Everyone would see it soon. 

It flicked another signal to the guards, who clashed the gong that summoned the rest of it's entourage into the room. Standing, Amun-Ra, gestured for the priests to activate the Long-Range Communications Device. It was time to met the people.  It commanded, the words and image being transmitted to every home, every village hall and every person on the planet. < I am your God, Amun-Ra... 

...this new body is the one that shall carry me to conquer the entire galaxy. Believe your god, when I tell you that I am now invincible!> "Yack, yack, yack. What's wrong with 'Good evening, ladies and germs'?" O'Neill whispered. SG-1 and MacLeod where crouched in high bushes, in the outskirts of a small village. It had appeared deserted when they had stopped to rest, but a signal of some kind had brought everyone running back. Teal'c had believed that the signal was an announcement for the people to 'heed their god'. but could not be sure. O'Neill had decided to hang around and now wished he hadn't. The public globe that was relaying the message to the empty square was announcing the worst of his fears. This Gua'ould wanted the lot and had an Immortal body to use to get it. "That's Kobol." MacLeod confirmed, grimly. "It is not." Teal'c answered him. "It's is his body, controlled by the Gua'ould." "What does that mean?" "It means we are in serious trouble. It's going to be a lot harder to get this guy as a Gua'ould. Still, we're going to contain this. Come on."O'Neill led his dispirited team into the woods, at a silent jog. 

As Amun-Ra finished it's speech, promising it's people the galaxy, but giving no definite plans, a priest whispered that some more Jaffa from the Chapa'ai had arrived. More attackers had come through! As soon as the man finished his message, Amun-Ra felt a flood of rage rush through it's new body. Yet with it there was satisfaction, as the other's memories showed what this new threat must be. < Methos! > cried the alien, it madness now total. < Summon the legions. We will begin my dominance of the galaxy by crushing these slaves. > it announced to the room, creating a frenzy of action. People scurried to organise the Jaffa and to convert the pyramid to it's battle mode. It amused Amun-Ra to think that these preparations where unnecessary. It was now invincible! It even smiled as it's First Prime stepped forward to receive his orders. That smile made him more nervous than the thought of leading the men into battle, Amun-Ra realised. Well, he would not be leading them. < I shall command the attack. I will be the one to kill them, understand? > The First Prime bowed. 

Yet again, the team heard the tiny taps of metal on metal, that revealed the presence of a Gua'ould squad. Yet again, O'Neill signalled them to halt and peered through the trees until he could get a view. Yet again, the squad was between them and the Stargate, forcing them to their left. This time, however, O'Neill felt that it was time to act. 

After creeping back to the other four, O'Neill spoke in a whisper. "Ok. They are definitely guarding the Gate. I want to know why. There are only four of them and their are definitely not at 100% concentration. I want us to take them fast and without killing anybody. This is about information, Ok?" Noting the nods, O'Neill outlined the plan. 

Back again at the tree's, O'Neill peered out at the four foot-soldiers of Amun-Ra. They were still clustered in a group. Remembering his own first tour of duty, O'Neill recognised that they where discussing their own lives, convinced nothing would happen to them. They even had their heads uncovered. He look to Teal'c and MacLeod, who had circled around to each side of the squad. He nodded to Daniel, waiting behind them to start the shooting if anything went wrong. O'Neill and Carter them began to creep forward, bending low. 

They reached their two designated targets silently. Carter's was knocked out with three scientific rabbit punches to the head, while O'Neill simply slammed the butt of his gun in the top of his guy's neck. The other two, heading these thumps, span round. Carter and O'Neill instantly dropped to the floor and rolled away, completely confusing their attackers. This was the plan, as Teal'c and MacLeod raced in from the sides; towards the guards' now unprotected backs. 

Unfortunately, MacLeod's man managed to spot Teal'c; a second before Teal'c slammed into his man. As he was plunged to the floor, the Jaffa let off a purely reflex shot, shouting wildly. It slammed into the chest of his partner, blowing apart his amour. MacLeod, changed his approach and dropped the shouting guard. "Oh, this is not good." O'Neill noted, getting to his feet. Daniel sprinted over, his guns out, but saw the situation was contained. The only conscious Jaffa was in no state to fight back. He was barely conscious, the blood flooding out of him. This was well beyond his Gua'ould's ability to heal. 

Seeing the blurred shapes above him and knowing that these were the enemies his god had sent him to kill, he used his last breathe to inform them of their fate. He would die with honour. "God is coming for you." he heaved, his breath whistling out of him. "He is waiting... to destroy you." 

Teal'c leaned down and closed the Jaffa's eyes. Their was a moment of silence, then O'Neill made his decision. "We're leaving." The other four reacted predictably, so O'Neill simply held up his hand. "They know we're here. They know about Immortal's. The entire Jaffa army of this guy is hunting us. This mission is over. Let's get home." There was no argument. 

SG-1 and MacLeod sprinted as fast stealth would allow through the forest. After a only a few hundred yards, the sudden blast of a staff weapon striking the ground knocked O'Neill over. He rolled as he landed, instinctively yelling, "Take cover!" 

The Jaffa knew that they where not to kill anyone armed with a sword, but didn't know why. Their God was acting very strangely. First the change of host, then the announcement that they would conquer the universe and now the fact that it was leading an attack on 'outsiders'? They had to follow there God and it's ways were mysterious, they had agreed. They now lay down fire, seeking only to prevent the five from moving, while they reported their position to the First Prime. The curt response came back, < Our God is coming. Do not kill them! > The ten Jaffa of the squad didn't know why their God was coming, or why he would kill the strangers. They just knew that they had to keep them their. With quick hand gestures, they began to encircle the targets. 

SG-1 and MacLeod took cover behind the compulsory fallen trees and mossy rocks in the forest. O'Neill often reflected that they could "explore the galaxy" by wandering around the forests of Vancouver. Mind you, the forests of Vancouver didn't have people shooting at him. The blasts slammed down around him. Although he couldn't even shoot back, O'Neill assessed that he was in no immediate danger. 

Glancing around at his friends, he realised that exactly the same was true of them. MacLeod and Daniel were in a hollow formed by a massive fallen tree, Carter was behind one of the trees to his left and Teal'c was behind another boulder, a few feet to his right. O'Neill began methodically reloading, as he turned his head to shout to Teal'c. "Teal'c. Teal'c! They're not trying to kill us. What's with that?" 

Teal'c, also realising that the Jaffa where well under cover, replied as the weapons fire continued. "I do not know, O'Neill! I suspect they have been ordered to take us alive." "That does not cheer me up!" "I did not intend it to." 

A few feet away, Daniel's body admitted it wasn't going to get any further in the hollow. His shoulders where just too broad. He glance up and slightly across at MacLeod. He was examining the battle with the kind of calm Daniel normally associated with O'Neill. "Are you all right?" "Yes, Daniel. Perhaps I should have taken that gun you offered, though." As he spoke, another staff discharge hammered into the tree. "Could of been useful." "What normally happens now?" "We get captured, I get injured and put in a sarcophagus. We save the day by turning over the entire planet's belief system. I doubt that will happen this time, though." 

Carter, ducking around the cover of her tree, noticed that the Jaffa where not taking open shots at her. Twice they must of had cold, yet they just blasted close enough to make her jump back. Either they were very poor shots, or they could all get out of this. "Colonel! They're not prepared to shoot at us!" "What exactly do you call this, Captain?" O'Neill yelled back, making Daniel, Teal'c's and MacLeod's head turn. "Sir, they could easily have killed us by now, or at least moved in to capture us. They're just waiting. I recommend we make a run for it." "Oh, great, so we can be shot on the run! You have to be kidding!" 

MacLeod had been watching the Jaffa as well; he agreed with Carter. He also didn't want to wait any more. So he stood up. After a few seconds of shocked silence, blasts exploded around him. MacLeod sauntered over to O'Neill, grinning. "I think she's right-" A yellow explosion seemed to erupt from MacLeod's shoulder. He was dropped to the ground, his face completely white. Clutching his shoulder, he felt the blood spurt for a few seconds then slow to a trickle. As his vision returned from the blaze of white that had accompanied the pain, he saw O'Neill checking him over. "I'm convinced. We'll just have to move faster than you." He deadpanned. "Are you sure of this O'Neill?" Teal'c asked. "Personally, I think it's better than staying here until whatever these guys are keeping us for turns up. We go on three." O'Neill turned and signalled to Carter and Daniel. 

The Jaffa watching had been amazed when one of the strangers had simply stood and walked forward, in plain view. When SG-1 and MacLeod burst through the foliage, racing to the Chapa'ai, they were amazed and seriously concerned. < They are escaping! > < Let them. > 

The five sprinted through the forest, jumping over trees and bushes, their heads ducked to avoid the staff weapon shots. They never came. O'Neill, resisting his own urge to look back, yelled, "Don't think, just move!" He was too experienced a solider to believe that they had just got away. Either they had surprised the Jaffa and they where now in pursuit, or they were begin lead into... a trap. 

This explained O'Neill's wry grin as they burst into the clearing near the Stargate. Standing their, apparently alone, was the man they had seen in the surveillance film from Antarctica. Kobol. However, as his eyes glowed on sensing MacLeod, they all knew it was Kobol no longer. Amun-Ra had come for them. 

O'Neill snapped his gun up and loosed a dozen shots at Amun-Ra/Kobol. They bounced off his energy shield, crackling with energy. The Immortal Gua'ould laughed cruelly, then reached to his side and pulled out a sword. It had been hanging in his pyramid for years, purely ornamental, but had a fine cutting edge. It sparkled nicely in the sunlight as Amun-Ra waved it around. 

Daniel turned to MacLeod and opened his mouth to translate, but MacLeod forestalled him. "I know what that meant. O'Neill, please stand back." "Why? You're going to fight him." "No. I'm going to kill him. But the rules call for one on one, no interruptions." "Oh, yeah? You want to tell them that, or should I?" 

MacLeod, his hand still on his sword, moved his head to bring the edges of the clearing into his view; never taking his eyes completely off Amun-Ra. In a half-circle behind Amun-Ra, hundred of Jaffa waited. Waited for the command from their god to kill them all. "This is against the rules!" MacLeod shouted, in the wrong language. "I don't think they're here for you. Just for us." O'Neill was murmuring, trying to move at little as possible. "When I say go, everyone to the tree line. MacLeod, kill him quickly would you?" 

Before MacLeod could reply, O'Neill's shout of "Go!" had sent SG-1 flying into the trees. A few Jaffa, managed to try and aim, but their God's instructions had been clear: no killing until the command was given. 

That command came now. Amun-Ra raised his head, shouted to the sky that the others where to be killed, but no-one was to interrupt it's battle. He would kill this one. The Jaffa immediately cut to either side of the battling pair, attempting to find a clear line of fire; one that would not risk hitting their god. 

MacLeod had already drawn his sword, and now span it gently. His eyes scanned the ground as he readied himself in a fighting stance. He moved towards Amun-Ra, the staff blasts and gun shots only vaguely impinging on his mind. This required total concentration. 

Amun-Ra lifted his broadsword up over his head and simply hacked downwards. MacLeod danced sideways, well out of range. He began his attack, smoothly weaving his blade through the air. He slashed at Amun-Ra's chest and neck, trying to end this quickly. Amun-Ra jumped and blocked, swinging again at MacLeod's legs. MacLeod curved his sword round low, deflecting the sword away. 

Twenty feet away, SG-1 were coming under so much fire it was difficult to see individual enemies. Behind Teal'c several trees were on fire. Daniel was constantly being sprayed with dirt, as the weapons blasted around him. Carter was safest, behind a large boulder; but the sheer intensity of fire kept her pinned down, helpless. O'Neill was firing blind as the Gua'ould poured on their attack. "Jack!" Daniel yelled across. We have to leave!" "I concur, O'Neill" "Where to?" O'Neill retorted. "They'll just follow!" "Sir! If we can't go back, we'll have to go forward" "What?" "We can get to the Stargate if we can make a gap to run through." 

O'Neill considered. The Jaffa where spreading out, slowly, expecting their massive numbers to finish them off. They might be able to make it through, if they concentrated their fire and moved quickly. A near-miss reminded him that anything was better than just sitting there, waiting to be killed. "There! To the right of the Stargate." Teal'c and Daniel joined O'Neill in firing at the point he had pointed out. Carter pulled out her two grenades, counting under her breath, "One... two... three..." then turning and throwing them in one movement. They sailed over the two battling Immortal's heads, as Carter ducked back out of the Jaffa's sight. The thump of an explosion and the screams told her she had hit her target. 

O'Neill tried to do the same, but several energy bolts flew in front of his face as he stood, throwing his aim off. The blasts came from only a dozen or so yards away to his left. "Keep firing!" he yelled, shaking his head to stop his brain bouncing round. 

MacLeod and Amun-Ra where vaguely aware of the heavier explosions, mixed in with the gunfire and staff weapons. They could not spare much concentration, though. MacLeod was clearly the better swordsman and general fighter, but Amun-Ra's speed was driven by madness. No matter where MacLeod struck, no matter what style, no matter what trick he used, Amun-Ra always managed to get his sword in the way; denying MacLeod victory. All he had been able to do was get a couple of nicks in, which should have at least irritated Amun-Ra. It was strange, but he didn't seem to notice. In fact, MacLeod could almost swear that wounds that should have taken ten or minutes to heal were gone already. 

The massed firepower of Amun-Ra's army continued to slam into SG-1's positions. If the Jaffa had noticed that SG-1's counter-attack was only aimed at one place, they didn't let it change their method of attack. Their god had warned them that this beings where tricky and powerful. With the unrelenting attack and massive advantage, something had to give. It was Daniel. 

Relying on his 'face-clenched-point-and-shoot' technique, Daniel never saw the bolts coming. Three exploded into the tree just inches from his face, sending him flying backwards. He smashed into a huge oak trunk and lay still. 

"Daniel!" O'Neill yelled, frantically wanting to move, but he was still pinned down as the Jaffa pressed their advantage. Peering through the smoke and debris that floated in the air, O'Neill thought he saw Daniel's hand twitch. "We've got to get to him. He's still exposed." he yelled to Carter and Teal'c. 

They could easily see it was true. As soon as it cleared enough for the Jaffa to assess their shots, Daniel would be finished off. Carter jumped up and threw her remaining grenades, forcing the Jaffa to keep down. Teal'c also began spraying their lines in wild, uncontrolled bursts. Under this cover, O'Neill sprinted over to Daniel in a crouch; expecting to be shot at any moment. 

He reached forward for Daniel's jacket, gripped it tightly and jumped low over his body. This pulled them both deeper into the bushes in one flowing motion. Blood was plastered over Daniel's face, but the wound seemed reasonably shallow. "Daniel! Daniel, wake up!" Daniel groaned after a few more seconds, trying to move himself feebly. "Stay here. Keep firing, but stay under cover!" O'Neill ordered, his relief visible. "Got it, my colonel." 

In between the battling forces, MacLeod and Amun-Ra still leaped and slashed. MacLeod was certain now, Amun-Ra's wounds where healing to quickly. With a superb attack that danced and flicked over Amun-Ra, MacLeod sliced deeply at his shoulder. The wound was deep, almost to the bone, and blood gushed out of it. As MacLeod tried to press his advantage, with Amun-Ra's guard down, the Gua'ould Immortal managed to turn and punch him in the head. MacLeod staggered back, shocked. That wound should have left Amun-Ra unable to do anything but clutch at his own shoulder, helplessly. As his head cleared, he once again prepared to attack, then stopped to stare. The wound had vanished! Even Immortal's shouldn't recover that quickly. What had this alien done to Kobol's body? MacLeod knew he could not keep up this speed of defence and attack for much longer. Then Amun-Ra would have him. 

The power of the Quickening flowed through the Gua'ould parasite, exponentially increasing it's ability. Amun-Ra felt the power flowing through it's body, thorough every cell. It was undefeatable! 

Like this, it was undefeatable, MacLeod thought. He would have to go for the kill. He jumped forward, throwing all his energy in to one last attack. He swung, flowing with the blade. Amun-Ra was forced back, as the attack got faster and wilder. MacLeod was just hoping that the instincts of Kobol's body would make his plan work. 

As MacLeod swung his sword further and further, the gap in his defence became bigger and bigger. Amun-Ra didn't notice that the gap was only in front of MacLeod's chest, not his neck. Until it was too late. 

Amun-Ra leaned out of way of MacLeod's sword and stabbed straight forward into the Highlander's chest. The blade was halfway through MacLeod's ribcage, with agony racking his whole body. Amun-Ra raised his head to yell his victory, believing that this was the first step on his path to revenge against Methos. It also displayed his neck. 

MacLeod had managed to keep his grip on his sword, knowing that this was the only was to kill Amun-Ra. He swung down, sweeping towards the base of the Gua'ould Immortal's neck. The movement made him cry out with pain, as his chest twist around the blade buried in it, but Amun-Ra never saw it coming. His head dropped to the ground, the mouth still open in exultation. 

The blood splattered against MacLeod as he collapsed , pulling at the lethal steel inside him. He wrenched it out , waiting. He had to end this. After a second, the pale white of the Gua'ould being tried to inch it's way out of the body. It was clearly wounded, making no headway, searching for another host to keep it alive. MacLeod, his face pained and sweating, lifted the sword over his head with both hands; then half-stabbed, half-dropped down onto the slug. The crunch was loud and final. Amun-Ra was dead. 

The Jaffa attack stuttered to a stop, as they witnessed the death of their god and lord. Carter, her hair and skin covered in dirt, took advantage of the break to check on the Colonel and Daniel. O'Neill had moved forward again, after rescuing Daniel. Daniel himself was still lying on the ground, but he had his head and guns up; watching for any opportunity to help. "Sir, " she called "I'm almost out of ammunition." "That's good, Captain." O'Neill replied, without looking round from the scene of Amun-Ra's death. "Why?" "Because I'm completely out of ammunition." He turned to Teal'c. "Think we can make it out?" "I doubt it, my friend. The anger of the Jaffa will be immense." "That's what I thought. Daniel, we're going to have to run for it, so-" "Colonel! Look!" 

It was the same as back on Rhisia. MacLeod was on his knees as the power from Kobol spread out. As it grabbed him, Amun-Ra's armour began to crackle. The tendrils of power snaked over it, almost seeking out the power sources. As MacLeod gritted his teeth, they exploded, showering him with sparks. The raising wind whipped them around him, pulling at his clothes. 

The power continued to race across the ground, towards the trees. "Teal'c! Drop your staff!" Carter yelled. "Why, Captain Carter?" "Just do it!" Daniel shouted from the back. 

Wonderingly, Teal'c complied. After a few seconds, the blue lightening smashed into the power cell, a massive explosion rocking the three of them. O'Neill knew what was coming. "Get down! Cover up!" 

The dozens of beams lanced towards the Jaffa army, attacking their weapons, their armour, explosions hammering into them all. The trees where alive with flames, rapid bursts of explosions and hundreds of convulsing Jaffa. They rocked from explosion to explosion, trying to avoid the dancing blue light, but, as always, the Quickening smashed through anything to earth itself. The suits erupted around their heads, their weapons tried to blow their own hands off. In seconds, the organised army, poised to crush an enemy, where reduced to a flailing bunch of dying men. 

MacLeod dropped to the ground. The wound, close to his heart, was healing; but at the moment he could hardly walk. The Quickening died around him, but the explosions and screams of the Jaffa continued. They where a spent force, at least for now. 

O'Neill gestured to Teal'c. "Get MacLeod. Carter get to the Stargate and dial! I'll get Daniel." As they raced towards and through the Stargate, past the wounded, dying and dead Jaffa, all four reflected that this had been a high price to pay; even for their missions. 

STARGATE COMMAND, 26th March, 1997: MacLeod pulled on his jacket, then rubbed the centre of his chest. The wound had healed in just a few hours, but the memory remained. Amun-Ra had been one of the hardest opponent's he had ever faced. He was glad the Stargate was being guarded by people like SG-1. It meant he actually felt safe about it. Picking up his bag, he walked down the corridor and turned up the stairs towards the conference room. 

Waiting inside where SG-1, General Hammond and Methos. Methos still had two MP's standing within stepping distance, but the smiles on everyone's faces reassured him. Daniel was the only one seated, his wounds taking longer to heal that MacLeod's; despite being actually quite mild, after the initial headache had worn off. 

"Dismissed." Hammond ordered the MP's out, to Methos' obvious relief. "Well, Mr. MacLeod, I want to thank you. On behalf of the SGC, the American Military and the planet Earth. You kept your word." MacLeod grinned. "Well, you're the ones who really did save the world. Blowing up spaceships is a long way from sword fighting. Thank you for saving the planet." "You know, you're the first person to actually say that." O'Neill broke in, also smiling. "I've been on it longer. I appreciate it more." 

Methos coughed. "I feel I've been here to long. Am I free now, General?" "Yes. You held your end of the bargain. We'll be able to deal with the Immortal threat, thanks to your information." "So, we have a deal. You don't tell anyone about us, we won't tell anyone about you." O'Neill surmised. "A fair deal, but try to avoid any human Immortals you meet. We'll deal with them, when anyone can go through the Stargate." "It'll be decades before we even reveal the existence of the Stargate to the military..." Daniel trailed off, realising. "We can wait. Thank you and good luck." MacLeod replied, turning to walk out. 

The two immortals walked out of the base, escorted by guards a polite distance. They pulled off at the gates, allowing the two old men to walk quickly past the two sentries. Unexpectedly, the two snapped to attention and saluted. MacLeod returned it, to the sardonic look of Methos. They then carried on, down the mountain. 

The two sentries continued saluting, their hands locked in position. This had kept the circular, green tattoos away from the Immortals. 


End file.
